


Shine With All The Untold

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Knight!Rumple, Lady!Belle, Sir Rumpelstiltskin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle’s father invites Sir Rumpelstiltskin, the ogreslayer, to lodge in their manor during his journey home. Belle expects yet another dull, self-impressed brute with a sword: the man she discovers is something else entirely. Set in the Author’s AU at the end of season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A different interpretation of Sir Rumpelstiltskin from the Season 4 finale. As in: the way I feel this character should have been written.

Belle had become disenchanted by war stories long ago.

It was an unfortunate by-product of being the daughter of a man who’s entire life had been spent in armour: Sir Maurice had done nothing but fight and defend since he was old enough to hold a sword. It was all he knew, and thus all he talked about. It had grown ever worse once Belle’s mother had died, too, for suddenly any story of peacetime was clouded with the memory of what had been lost.

Mostly, therefore, Belle kept to her rooms and her books, or wandered the gardens, keeping her distance from her grave-eyed father and his grim tales. Their estate was only very small, only large enough for Sir Maurice, his daughter, and a handful of servants most of whom lived in the village that bordered the edge of their lands. The relatively minor size of the estate was the other reason why Belle was so deeply bored of the war-talk of old soldiers: every time a knight of any stature rode through their lands, Sir Maurice insisted they dine and stay in the manor.

This was just good politics on his behalf, of course. After all, any man who started as nothing more than a cloth-merchant’s son and thus had risen to the status he now possessed – a knight, no less, with an inheritable title – on the back of his own skill with a blade, required as many friends as he could find. Unfortunately for Belle however, especially now that her mother was gone, this meant playing hostess to every old war dog in the realm. It meant listening to their stories, laughing at their jokes, being pleasing and kind and beautiful to behold. Worst, and hardest of all, it meant pretending every time that she hadn’t seen and heard it all before; that every man who visited was fascinating and enthralling, a mighty hero, and she a fawning damsel.

This was why, when her father came to her one spring morning and told her, with a broad smile, that Sir Rumpelstiltskin of the Frontlands had accepted his invitation to dine with them and stay a few days in their hospitality, Belle groaned.

“Father, please,” she began, “may I be excused this time?”

“Whatever for?” Sir Maurice replied, “You’re the lady of the house now, my girl, think of how it would look if you were absent.”

“But these dinners are always so boring,” Belle protested. “And there’s a full moon tonight, a clear sky too – I wanted to watch it over the lake, like mother and I used to.”

“Belle,” her father sighed, having heard this argument many times before, “we’ve discussed this before, and there are always other moons. I need you tonight, end of discussion.”

And Belle, knowing that to argue further would be to incite her father to make her spend the entire evening with their guest as opposed to excusing herself the moment dessert was cleared, agreed.

“Alright, father,” she said, “I’ll come to dinner. But you must carry the conversation this time: I am running out of topics to discuss with soldiers three times my age.”

Sir Maurice just laughed at that, “You’re a treasure, my Belle. It hardly matters if you repeat a comment more than once.”

“It matters to me,” Belle replied, primly. “And it mattered to mother.”

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding, that misty, grave look returning to his eyes, “that it did.”

With that, he nodded his goodbye and left her to her own devices. Belle sighed, and rolled her eyes to herself before returning to her reading: it would be another long, dull evening, but at least she had a good book to return to once she’d excused herself from their company.

She heard hoof beats outside her window some time later, and, curiosity and boredom having gotten the better of her, Belle peered out her window to catch a glimpse of the famed hero. She’d heard all the stories, of course: the rescue of Princess Cinderella’s lost newborn; how he’d saved the Princess Regina’s sainted mother Lady Cora from her wrongful imprisonment in King Xavier’s tower; his single-handed capture and taming of the dragon formerly known as Maleficent the Sorceress. He was a hero, there was no doubt about that, but Belle had known many men who had claimed that title, and a life of heroics seemed only to make a man self-important and long-winded.

The man on the white horse drew up to the stables. He had his visor down, and to Belle’s surprise his breastplate, helmet, and every inch of his armour was gold-plated. Even his cloak was deep, rich ochre velvet, and the fur lining it was almost golden in the sunlight, rich and pale brown.

“Well,” she muttered to herself, “Someone has a liking for gold.”

The knight pulled up his visor and removed his helmet, before dismounting his horse and handing the reigns to Andrew, the stable boy, with a firm pat on his shoulder, and a gold coin in his hand. That did impress Belle, a little grudgingly: he was the first knight she’d seen be kind to servants when no one else was around.

He was rather shorter than Belle had expected, small of stature and clearly lean rather than stocky beneath his armour. He was almost as old as her father, with a careworn face and flowing dark hair to his shoulders streaked with grey, and a long nose. He looked up at the house, and for a moment, just a moment, Belle thought she saw just a flicker of discomfort flash over his face, before his shoulders straightened and his mouth set in a firm line. His eyes were dark, warm brown, with kind laughter lines at the corners: a man who smiled, and smiled often. Belle liked that. Belle almost wished she hadn’t noticed.

So caught up was Belle, in fact, in her scrutiny of the new arrival’s features, that she utterly failed to notice that he was staring right at her.

“Well met, my Lady!” he called, sweeping a bow to her with a small smile that almost made his motion a self-parody. His hand had a little flourish to it, his eyes a little sparkle, and she found herself laughing in earnest as she leaned out the window properly, and folded her arms on the sill.

“Well met, Sir Knight!” she returned, formally. “Were I more dignified a Lady, I should have met you at the entrance with my father.”

“Were you more dignified a Lady, my dear, I am certain you’d be a Queen.” He returned, with a wider grin, and Belle once again caught herself laughing at his sheer audacity, as well as the sarcasm implicit in his tone. He was mocking her, this man she’d only just met, and yet it was such gentle mockery that Belle found it far more amusing, even charming, than insulting.

When was the last time she had been charmed by one of her father’s guests? There was no memory ready to answer such a question, which Belle supposed explained how novel the whole situation felt.

“Certainly not,” she replied, primly, “A Queen would not trade quips with a stranger out of her bedroom window, in her housedress no less, without so much as an introduction.”

“Indeed,” he inclined his head, “forgive my lapse in manners, my Lady, I seem to have forgotten myself.” He bowed again, “Sir Rumpelstiltskin, the knight, at your service.”

“I could have guessed the ‘knight’ part from your attire alone, sir,” she teased, and he stared at her a moment before chuckling, a deep and honest laugh that made Belle feel oddly warm for having inspired it. “Lady Belle, of Marchland House, daughter of Sir Maurice, honoured to make your acquaintance.” She did a little curtsey as best she could while kneeling on her window seat, and saw him smother another laugh

“Honoured,” he replied, a little drolly. “Now, if you would excuse me my Lady, your father awaits inside. I highly doubt my welcome would be warm, if I were caught pulling his daughter from her books without his consent.”

“How did you know that I was reading?” she asked, with a small frown.

“Your hands, my Lady, are smudged with ink,” he replied, gesturing with one leather-gloved hand to her own palms, where – sure enough – she had once again smeared ink all over her arms.

“Oh, Gods above!” she cursed, and then slapped that same hand over her mouth, giggling hysterically at having just used such language in front of a stranger – a knight, no less, and one of her father’s guests! – “Forgive me, sir,” she said, hastily, “I had not noticed the stains!”

“You are quite forgiven,” he managed, his lips twitching helplessly at the corners, and Belle quite thought – knew, in fact, without a shadow of a doubt – that he was laughing at her. Her face flushed, embarrassed and something else she could not name, and she shook her head.

“You must go inside now, sir,” she said, at last, “and forget this encounter, before I shame myself further.”

“My lady Belle,” he replied, earnestly, the smile leaving his face for just a second, “rest assured that it would be impossible for me to ever forget a moment of this encounter, for the remainder of my days.”

Belle stared at him, torn between laughing and throwing something pointy at his smug, handsome face. She settled for making a small noise in the back of her throat – disgust, or maybe shame, or laughter, or all of the above – and closing her window quite rudely in the face of his open laughter.

She hid in her room for the remainder of the afternoon, electing to avoid their new guest as far as possible until she absolutely had to engage him again. It wasn’t that she’d found him crass or cruel: rather the opposite, in fact. Despite Belle’s best judgement she’d found his gently mocking manner and warm eyes utterly charming. And, of course, therein lay the problem.

For Belle had a plan, a plan she’d had since her mother died and her father had forbidden her from riding anywhere or exploring beyond the next village without a full retinue. And that plan certainly did not involve catching the interest of a veteran knight, a wealthy hero of the lands, whose proposal Sir Maurice would be hard pressed to refuse. Sir Maurice was ageing, and Belle knew the time to decide her fate was drawing near. If she remained unmarried, a maid left caring for her father in his twilight years, then his title and lands would pass to her in inheritance upon his death, and she would be free at last to travel, explore, and have adventures as her mother had promised she might.

If she married, then the title would pass through her to her husband, and then to their sons, and she would go from one man’s house to another without any chance to break free.

Better that Sir Rumpelstiltskin thought her rude, unladylike and odd rather than pleasant and charming. She had managed to avoid an offer of marriage from any knight thus far by giving just that impression to any unmarried man who crossed the threshold, and she had no intention of breaking that streak.

At last the bell rang for dinner, and Belle had to put down her book, wash the ink from her hands in the basin, and change into a fresh dress. She was lost in her thoughts, her mind still on the latest chapter of her book, and she dressed in a daze, allowing her maid to dress her without much input. She chose the yellow, the silk ball gown that fell to her toes with the crystal beading on the bodice. Her maid left her hair in ringlets around her face, sweeping only the uppermost portion into a small bun at the back of her head.

Belle took the book down to dinner with her just for good measure: she’d found that the very notion of a woman reading tended to put off most men in want of a wife, and a blunt-force reminder of her intellectualism couldn’t hurt.

“Ah, there she is, at last!” her father cried, a note of reproach that only Belle would catch lying beneath his greeting. “Sir Rumpelstiltskin, may I introduce my daughter, the Lady Belle?”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s lips twitched in response, and Belle cringed inside, knowing that he was remembering their earlier meeting. Belle glared at him, and he had the audacity to wink in response!

“Belle?” Sir Maurice prompted, and Belle belatedly dropped into a curtsey.

“It is an honour, Sir Knight,” she said, again, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s smile widened.

“Indeed, the Lady’s preoccupation is my fault. I’m afraid that she and I have already been introduced,” Belle’s wide eyes flicked to his in alarm, and she tried to shake her head without her father noticing, to warn the knight off his chosen subject.

“Oh?” Sir Maurice frowned, confused, “And when would this have been?”

“Only this afternoon, sir, I assure you,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin said, smoothly, “your daughter was kind enough to welcome me upon my arrival. I believe I interrupted her walk, I do apologise.”

“I… yes, indeed,” Belle’s mind caught up quickly: it would be hard to hide that they weren’t total strangers to one another, since she had a feeling that Sir Rumpelstiltskin was incapable of being cool and polite even if he tried, so changing the story to one acceptable to her father made sense. “I was out for a walk, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin arrived through the gates on his horse. I gave him directions to the main house.”

“Ah,” Sir Maurice nodded, mollified, and smiled to them both. “Well then, now that we’ve dealt with introductions, shall we eat? We have some fine venison on the estate, Sir Rumpelstiltskin, and our cook is the best around.”

“Indeed, lead the way,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin smiled, and Belle’s father nodded and turned to direct them into the dining hall. The moment his back was turned and he’d stridden off ahead, Belle turned to the knight beside her, and her polite smile twisted into a scowl.

“I told you to forget what happened before!” she hissed, but he just smirked down at her. Thankfully for Belle, he was no towering giant: she came up to past her shoulder, and could look him in the eye easily to scold him.

“And I warned you that was quite impossible,” he replied, mildly, “And I hardly think you’d have wanted your father to know that you engaged in a rather indecorous conversation with a perfect stranger, while leaning out of your bedroom window in your housedress. Or am I wrong?”

She glared at him, but was forced to mutter, “No.”

“Then can we chalk it up to protecting your honour, and continue as friends?” he suggested, and Belle glanced at him in surprise, suddenly feeling a little open and vulnerable.

“Friends?” she asked, “But sir, we’ve barely met.”

“Do you not wish to be friends with me?” he asked, his hand to his breast as if scandalised, although that merry sparkle remained in his eyes. “And here I thought we were getting along so well: you even changed your dress to match.”

Belle stared at him, and then glanced hurriedly from his clothing to her own, her mouth going slack with shock. She hadn’t noticed until he noticed it, but he was quite right: his doublet of soft, tan leather and ochre trim, coupled with his slightly darker leather breaches and boots, all with gold accents and clasps, appeared the perfect masculine compliment to her own golden gown. She had dressed herself to match his signature colour, and hadn’t even noticed.

“You are insufferable!” she scolded, but even as she said it she wanted to laugh. He just looked so happy, and there was no denying that already she actively wanted to be in his company, knew that if he stayed longer than one night she would seek out his company. He was funny, irreverent, sharp and a little unusual. Like she was, she supposed. “Fine, fine, friends. We can be friends, if you wish it so much.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” he grinned, sarcastically, “never have I felt so blessed.”

Belle resisted the urge to swat him with the back of her hand, knowing that such a breach in courtesy would be a step too far. The urge was there none the less.

“I feel as if I have missed a whole conversation,” Sir Maurice remarked, when they reached the dining room and he finally returned his attention to her. “Belle, I hope you didn’t talk the poor knight’s ear off in my absence.”

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin remarked, as they took their seats. “I had noticed the lady was carrying a book that is quite a favourite of an old friend of mine. I was only about to enquire what she thought of it.”

“You know someone else who’s read Her Handsome Hero?” Belle asked, in surprise. “It’s a fairly obscure little novel.”

“The Lady Cora’s daughter Regina was fond of it in her younger days,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin explained, “it was one of the few books she would abide as a distraction from her riding.”

“I adore it,” Belle sighed, “I’ve read it twice already, it’s just so deep and poetic, the knight and his queen, it’s so…”

“Insipid?” Sir Rumpelstiltskin suggested, a gleam of challenge in his eyes.

Belle glared at him, and drummed her fingers meaningfully on her book, which she’d placed beside her on the dinner table. “Romantic,” she shot back. “Come on, forbidden love, a hint of magic, the baby plot in the second act? It’s the stuff of romantic poetry!”

“I apologise if court intrigue, the games and infatuations of royalty and nobility, holds little weight with me,” he shrugged. “The real world is messier than that novel would imply it to be.”

“It’s conceptual!” Belle argued back, eyes flashing. “Beautiful! It’s not supposed to be gritty realism! A fact you would understand if you got off your horse long enough to read more than one book a year!”

“Belle!” her father interjected, cutting her off before she could add injury to insult. “That is quite enough of that! I apologise, Sir Rumpelstiltskin,” he said, hurriedly, “I have no idea what has possessed my daughter!”

“No, no,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin held up a hand, as he dug into the venison served to him by a servant, “it’s quite alright, I started this little fight, and I’m interested in a woman with convictions. You think the book is a concept piece, and thus should not be held as a mirror to reality?”

“I think the book is a work of poetry, told in prose,” Belle explained, a little taken aback by his interest, his unruffled acceptance of her heated words… his acceptance, even admiration of them, in fact. “The plotline is streamlined, emotions overblown and practical realities shrunken.” She gestured with her fork for emphasis, waving a piece of meat around in front of her to her father’s horror. “It’s an exploration of love and desire, and then of loss and despair. It’s not meant to be a political treatise or a biography of a real life.”

“Intention is all well and good,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin allowed, “but emotion is meant to be felt and experienced, not laid bare and clinically examined through insipid, uninspired prose. Emotion means nothing if it’s not being felt by a real person.”

“You… seem to have quite a knowledge of literature, sir,” Sir Maurice intervened, confused beyond reason by the turn of conversation.

“My manor is of comparable size to yours, Sir Maurice,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin replied, “and as I have little use for a second guest room, I have created for myself a little library. It is woefully understocked, of course,” he added, and his eyes incongruously turned to look at Belle, his gaze intense and meaningful, although Belle could not divine its intent, “it requires a true bibliophile to tend to it as it deserves. But books are an interest of mine.”

“Then it appears my Belle is in luck, this evening,” Sir Maurice said, a little uneasily, “She is quite the book-lover herself, as you can see. She is often bemoaning the lack of more scholarly company around here.”

“I am hardly a scholar,” he replied, “I simply discovered a long time ago that what one lacks in breeding, one must make up for in personal qualities. A lowborn solider must be thrice the swordsman, equestrian, and scholar of the lord’s son simply to break even. It is for this reason, for the most part, that I began to read.”

Sir Maurice nodded, and Belle could see the understanding and kinship grow in her father’s eyes at Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s earnest words. No one had worked harder than her father, Belle knew, to make up for exactly that lack in bloodline.

“A noble sentiment,” Sir Maurice agreed, “I myself as a young man found myself set just such a disadvantage. I found extra hours of practice, discipline, and displays of leadership and courage the only method to gain any respect in the corps.”

“Exactly so,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin nodded, “heroism cannot be overlooked, no matter the circumstances of one’s birth.” He looked at Sir Maurice speculatively, “If you don’t mind a somewhat impertinent question, Sir?”

“Go right ahead,” Sir Maurice invited, “you are our guest, you must speak your mind.”

“Indeed, Sir,” Belle agreed, a slightly dangerous edge creeping into her voice that, she could see, caught the knight’s attention. “Do ask.”

“It is only that you appear to empathise with my sentiments,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin said, carefully, “Where most knights of your stature and renown are blind to the struggles of the poor, and the disadvantage such circumstances cause to a young man in the corps. I wished to ask how you acquired such an understanding, if I may?”

“Ah, a simple question,” Sir Maurice relaxed, and spread his hands, “Like you, Sir, I was not born to title or lands. My father was a cloth-merchant, and I was to follow his trade, and I am not ashamed to admit it. It was a good business, a good life, but my brother was better suited to it than I. My dreams lay in my scabbard and saddle, and I followed them.”

Belle resisted the urge to roll her eyes: she had heard the speech a hundred times, and knew how fond her father was of that final turn of phrase.

“A worthy tale,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin said, with a broad smile. “Not unlike my own, in fact. I too was born to such a trade, a spinner and weaver. The women who raised me trained me well, and I intended to follow in their footsteps. Then, one day, a sword was pressed into my hand, and I discovered there was a whole other life I could have, if only I could embrace it. The work was hard, it always is when it’s worthwhile; I have never regretted a moment of it.”

“I can drink to that,” Sir Maurice grinned, “To hard work, and no regrets.”

“Here, here,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin agreed. Belle watched with a sinking heart as their glasses joined over the table, and pushed another piece of meat into her mouth to hide her grimace. She had so hoped earlier in the conversation that tonight might be different, that this knight might have more to him than moralising and war-stories. She dearly hoped she hadn’t been wrong.

“You said you had a library, sir?” she asked, presently, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin turned to her with a smile.

“I did,” he agreed, and she smiled back, unable to help herself.

“So if you’re not capable of appreciating the romantics, what is your favourite work of literature?”

“Hmm, that’s an interesting question,” he thought for a moment, “I assume whatever choice I make you will mock mercilessly, my lady?”

“That depends on how terrible and predictable your choice is,” she countered, and he grinned, inexplicably pleased at her response, and inclined his head.

“I enjoyed The Tide of Saracen,” he said, after a moment longer. “I’ve reread it a number of times, in fact.”

Belle gave a snort of derision, and ignored her father’s glare. “Oh, come on, you’re making this too easy.”

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, “Please, do educate me, how is my adventure epic even a match to your bland romantic idiocy?”

“Epic?” Belle giggled at that, “Come on, now. It’s a male power fantasy, plain and simple. That’s such a male book to choose!”

“And yours isn’t a little girl’s dream of love? All dashing knights and swooning ladies?”

“Better than gratuitous blood and entrails flying left and right, and one woman in the whole text… and that woman used as a prop for a man’s emotional journey!”

“Belle!” Sir Maurice cried, “Please, at least watch your language. I will not have you using such graphic talk at the dinner table!”

“Is that not what you expected me to say, however?” Sir Rumpelstiltskin challenged. “The soldier with the wartime epic?”

“It wasn’t unexpected,” she admitted, then narrowed her eyes, catching his game. “Please tell me you didn’t choose it just to bait a response.”

“Then I shall have to keep my lips sealed,” he replied, an irresistible smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “for I will not lie to a lady in her own hall.”

“You’re infuriating, Sir Rumpelstiltskin,” she managed, torn between laughing aloud and simply gaping at him. He was so unlike any other knight she’d ever met, and he managed to both set her completely off-balance and make her laugh with every other word. It was unsettling, and Belle had no idea how to proceed.

“And you are a delight, Lady Belle,” he replied, grinning slyly, a smile she felt was meant just for her.

They passed the rest of the meal with less meaningful conversation – Sir Rumpelstiltskin explained he was returning home to his manor through a long route to avoid the spring marshes, and expressed his gratitude for their hospitality once again – and when the meal was finished, Belle rose to her feet. Even though he’d said nothing for the past quarter of an hour to unsettle or unsteady her, she still felt the pressing need to return to her rooms and be away from the knight for a while, to regroup and collect her thoughts if nothing else.

“How long will you be with us, then, sir?” Sir Maurice asked, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin spread his hands.

“A week, perhaps, if it is not too much trouble? The rains in the south plains have been particularly bad this season, and I would like to forstall a little to avoid the worst of it.”

“Of course,” Sir Maurice smiled, “you are our guest, you may stay as long as is needed.”

“Thank you,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin smiled genuinely to them both, “Truly, your hospitality is very much appreciated. I hope we shall part as very good friends.” He looked directly at Belle again as he said this last, and she felt the odd knot in her stomach that had been forming for a while tighten once more.

“I’m sure we will,” she replied, her voice tight. “Father, would it be possible for me to retire now? I have a matter to attend to.”

“Of course,” Sir Maurice inclined his head, and Belle thought he looked a little relieved that she was leaving. She wondered if he had caught onto the odd tension between herself and their new arrival, and if it unsettled him too. She wondered if that was a good thing. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, and she curtseyed.

“Goodnight, father,” she said, and turned to their guest, “Goodnight, Sir Rumpelstiltskin, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, my lady, I assure you,” he said, and while it was an innocuous phrase, Belle felt he imbued it with some kind of deeper meaning that tightened that knot still further. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Belle curtseyed once more, and all but ran from the hall and back to her bedroom, her heart all of a sudden thudding in her ears.

A week, she thought, desperately: he was staying a whole week.

She shook her head, and glanced out of the window, frustrated to find that the moon had clouded over and so venturing to the lake was impossible. She cursed under her breath, and almost stomped her foot, her emotions heightened for some reason and causing her unnatural outbursts.

Three nights of a full moon, she reminded herself: she could go tomorrow, or the night after if need be. No need to lose her head over some clouds; nor over a warm, teasing smile and dancing dark eyes.

She shook her head, and after her maid helped her dress for bed, she curled under the covers and stubbornly buried herself back into Her Handsome Hero. She didn’t care what any stupid knight had to say: it was a work of romantic literary genius, and she would savour every word.


	2. Chapter 2

Knowing  that Sir Rumpelstiltskin would be about in the house the next week, Belle resolved to spend most of her time in her room. There was no need to allow him to unsettle her further, even if he did claim that all his efforts were in the name of friendship.  Even less reason to antagonise her father. Sir Rumpelstiltskin seemed to take great joy in needling her to gain a response; Belle was all too aware that she had shown a less than ladylike side of her character the night before.

She took breakfast in her little sitting room, and spent the morning returning some correspondence. She considered going for a long walk and talking a small hamper for lunch, but a glance out of her window told her that was a poor idea.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin was in the courtyard with Andrew, the same stable boy Belle had seen him with the previous day. He appeared to be teaching him how to hold a shield without leaving his flank open to attack.

She caught herself watching their swordplay for quite some time. Belle found herself quite captivated,  and not by the lesson. Embarrassingly, her attention was caught rather by the way the knight could move. He had stripped down still further, to just a waistcoat, loose shirt and leather breaches tucked into his boots. Belle could see every inch of his lithe form as he moved to teach the stable boy, who watched with just as rapt attention. 

Andrew’s eyes, however, were modestly fixed on the sword and shield in the knight’s hands. Belle’s strayed more than once to his slender, muscled forearms. She admired the almost dancing movements of his hips and lean, sinewy legs, and how his hair gleamed in the sunlight. It looked very soft and warm, a fact only highlighted by the streaks of silver running through it. Belle had the absurd thought that she’d like to touch it, and see for herself. At that, she finally she recoiled from the direction of her own thoughts, and pulled back from the window.

“Come along now, my lady!” she heard him call, and she grimaced: she’d been caught, again, fool that she was. “Leave now and you’ll miss the rest of the lesson!”

“I glanced to check the weather, sir knight!” she returned, airily, “I barely noticed your presence until just now.”

“Indeed so?” he pursed his lips and handed the shield to Andrew. He straightened his waistcoat and ran his free hand through his hair. For a moment Belle’s mouth went dry at the image he presented, and she had to  mentally douse herself in cold water at her fixation. Whatever was the matter with her today? “That’s odd, considering I have caught sight of you in the polished back of my shield any number of times. Is the weather so changeable in these parts, my lady, that such thorough checks are necessary?”

“You are mistaken, sir,” she lied, and knew he didn’t believe a word. Andrew was glancing between them, mystified. Belle couldn’t claim any further insight on her own part.

“Indeed, I must be,” he replied, bracing himself for another attack. His legs were bent and feet parted; his sword point raised. “For I know you to be nothing but scrupulously honest, my lady.”

He launched himself forward and made a few weak, practice jabs at Andrew’s exposed areas. The boy raised the shield and parried all but one; Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s blade skimmed his shirt and left no damage. That he was an experienced teacher was not in any doubt. He moved with practiced ease as he simulated danger, without ever truly creating it. Belle felt no fear at all for Andrew’s safety, even watching them practice deadly arts right beneath her window.

“The ungodly clatter distracted me,” she managed, at last, trying to sound nonplussed. “If you are to play at war, could you perhaps do so someplace else?”

“As you wish, my lady,” Sir Rumpelstiltskin replied. He sheathed his sword, and retrieved his shield from Andrew. He threw a mockingly ornate bow in her direction, flourished with his hand thrown to one side, eyes dancing merry. Belle watched closed her window with a self-righteous slam; she saw him laugh at her indignation as they walked away.

She elected to spend the afternoon in the parlour with her father, sewing as he explained the year’s finances to her. She felt certain that there she was safe from Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s unsettling influence. 

She dined in her little sitting room with her maid. Her father’s demand that she join any guest for dinner extended only to the first night, thankfully. Belle was not hiding, not at all. It was just that Sir Rumpelstiltskin would have  made some sly comment in reference to her surveillance of him earlier in the day, and then made up some story to cover with her father. Better to avoid him altogether, she thought, and avoid such incident altogether.

—

The following day Belle was grateful that she caught only a glimpse of Sir Rumpelstiltskin. He was walking from his rooms to the kitchens. He nodded to her in absent greeting, but seemed quite absorbed in his book, and Belle, a bibliophile to her core, could not bear to interrupt him. She also could not see the cover of his book, a fact that made her insatiably curious.

She went down to dinner that night, against her better judgement and despite knowing he would likely be there too. She even wore her golden dress again in an attempt to draw his eye, although of course she only wished to gain a chance to ask after his reading material. But her father sat at the table alone when she arrived, already set on his dinner of steak pie and ale. When asked, Sir Maurice informed her that their guest had retired to his rooms to attend to some personal business. It was to be just the two of them for the evening.

Belle tried not to feel disappointed by the knight’s absence. He was to be gone in five days anyway, she thought to herself: a night without his incessant teasing and his intense eyes was hardly a loss.

“May I be excused?” she asked, once dinner had ended. Belle’s father nodded and waved her away from the table.

Belle headed for her rooms, and when she arrived she beamed at the view from her windows. It was a clear night, at last. If she wished to get her view of the full moon over the lake this month, then it was now or never.

She wasted no time on changing, instead choosing to throw her favourite green cloak on over her golden dress. She swapped her silken slippers for sturdy boots, anticipating the wet spring earth. She gathered her book under her arm, and slipped through the corridors of the house and out through the servants’ door. She picked up a lantern along the way, and slipped out into the moonlit darkness.

She needn’t have bothered with the lantern: the moon lit the way perfectly well all alone. It was only a short walk down the path to the lake. Belle had a lump in her throat, as she always did, as she followed that well-loved path down to the lakeside. There had been countless nights when she had taken just this path with her mother’s hand in hers. She had listened with rapt attention, as her mother wove tales of will o’ the wisps, and faeries dancing under toadstools. 

This was her mother’s favourite place: the lake, at midnight. This house had belonged to Lady Colette’s father before she had met and married Sir Maurice. She had loved the little hollow by the water, dappled in the moonlight, until the day she died. It was where Colette’s own mother had brought her as a child, and where Belle’s father had proposed. It was then where she had taken Belle to tell her fairy stories, and watch the moon on the water.

It was special, and Belle kept the tradition alive.

But to Belle’s dismay, there was already someone reading on the bench when she arrived. “What in the name of the Gods are you doing here?” she demanded, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s head shot up, startled, from his book.

He looked up at her, a small crease forming between his eyes. “I… am reading, and I wanted some fresh air. This seemed as good a spot as any to take it.”

“It is a good spot,” she agreed, “but not for you.”

“I apologise if I have caused some offence,” he said, rising to his feet to face her, puzzled frown deepening. “Your father gave no restriction to my use of the gardens. I didn’t mean to overstep if I was mistaken.”

Belle sighed, knowing she was being ridiculous, and rude as well. “You didn’t, I’m sorry,“ she relented. "It’s only that this place is… special to me, at the full moon. I came to enjoy it.”

“Well… then could we possibly enjoy it together?” he asked, hesitantly. She saw his hands clench in front of him, one over the other; a nervous gesture at odds with his characteristic confidence. She recalled all at once his discomfort, looking up at the house when he’d first arrived, before he’d seen her watching him. How he had latched on to her interest in him, the chance of friendship, as fast as he could. He had told her that was not a lord, born to a title and status. He had been raised a commoner, and had risen solely through skill and graft. He had not been born to this life, as she had.

He was vulnerable here, however much he wished not to be. That knowledge gave her both the confidence to remain, and the courage to be kind to him.

“I suppose so,” she allowed, inclining her head, and Sir Rumpelstiltskin nodded his thanks. He removed his furred cloak and spread it out over the bench, gesturing for her to take a seat. Belle blushed at his chivalry, giving a dainty little curtsey before taking the proffered seat. His cloak was warm from his body, and smelled of leather and something spicy, like cinnamon and cloves. It was very pleasant, and Belle suddenly wondered if this was what it would feel like to be wrapped in his embrace.

“Thank you,” she said, when he had seated himself, and he smiled.

“You’re very welcome, Lady Belle,” he replied, quietly in deference to the serene silence that set over the lake. “Thank you for allowing me to remain. I know how important such special places are.”

They sat in silence for a moment, gazing out over the water, neither knowing what to say. Belle knew he was curious about what this place could possibly mean to her, but her tongue was stilled by stubbornness as much as anything else. He had come into her home, and mocked her, unsettled her. Let him be the first to open up, if he so wished to now befriend her.

“You were reading before,” she noted at last, since he seemed to be unwilling to break their tense silence. “Not falling back into old habits with  _The Tale of Saracen_ , were you?”

“I…” he cleared his throat and looked down at the book cradled in his hands. His thumbs rubbed the textured leather cover as if for comfort. “No. I don’t read that one so much anymore, in fact. This one is my favourite, in all honesty: it always has been.”

He passed the book to her. It was a small thing, but he made it an act of  such heart-breaking honesty that Belle could hardly breathe. For some reason she felt she held his heart in her hands. She had no idea why he would have given it to her, or what she was supposed to do with it, but she knew she’d fight tooth and nail to keep it from any harm. “ _Skin Deep_ ,” she read aloud, and frowned. The book both fitted and utterly contradicted everything she had assumed of him. “Interesting.”

“Not what you expected?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No, but in a good way. It’s a far better choice than I expected, actually. A story about redemption, about a monster finding peace, and deep, beautiful, complicated love. It’s, ah, one of my favourites too, actually,” she admitted, a little shyly.

“Oh?” he found a smile for her then, teasing and gentle, familiar. “I thought you too busy with your silly courtly fantasies.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “And thought you too preoccupied with your blood and entrails,” she teased. He snickered, retrieving his book from her hands.

“This book came to me rather later in life, I must admit. It spoke to me in a time when little else could.”

“In what way?” Belle asked, curiously. For a moment a flicker of obscure and terrible pain passed over his face. But then it vanished, and his easy smile reappeared. 

“In many ways,” he said, a little evasively. “As you said, it’s a story of redemption and hope as much as anything else. Who hasn’t had moments when that appeals?”

“I suppose I just can’t imagine someone connecting with both  _The Tale of Saracen_  and  _Skin Deep_ ,” Belle replied. She referenced the other book to allow him to shift the conversation back to easier territory. There was a story lurking beneath the surface, something dark and complicated. One day Belle hoped she’d draw it out of him. It just seemed cruel to drag a story from him that he clearly felt uncomfortable telling, especially considering how unwilling she had been to tell him anything of her connection to this place.

He smiled at the mention of  _The Tale of Saracen_ , and looked out thoughtfully over the lake. He leaned over to brace his forearms on his legs and clasp his hands before him, hiding  _Skin Deep_  from view.

“It was  _The Tale of Saracen_  that taught me who I ought to be,” he told her, thoughtfully. “Strong, brave, courageous: a hero to fight the world’s wrongs. Saracen isn’t afraid of anything, and that appealed to the boy I was.”

“And who was that boy?” she asked. His eyes were fixed on the lake and not on her, but he chuckled at that, fondly, and shook his head.

“A skinny, scrappy thing with a wastrel father and a dead mother, who was never meant to come to anything. I liked to spin… I still do. I own a small farm back at home, and sometimes I still make my own cloth from the sheep’s wool. A very noble, heroic trait, I’m sure.”

“It is noble, knowing how to create something like that,” Belle told him, softly. “My father always says that all men should know a trade, and that that trade should not involve violence. He still steps in to help run my uncle’s cloth trade, every now and then.”

“Your father is a rare man,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I could have been content as a cloth-maker, you know. For a long time I never even considered becoming anything more.”

“So what changed?”

“I met a woman,” he said, and Belle stiffened, wondering why she felt so brittle all of a sudden at the thought that he might be married. “She was pretty, eligible, a weaver herself. Her father arranged the match. He wanted to marry her off before she got herself into trouble; she was always the type.”

“Did you?” Belle asked, “Marry her, I mean?”

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said. Belle tried not to admit to herself how her heart had plummeted into her boots at that. “But we were very young, and had little time to become acquainted, even after our marriage. The summons to join the local Duke’s corps came up around the same time. I wanted to go. I wanted to prove myself, and see if I could find any trace of the world outside the village. And Milah had always been attracted to strength and glory: she wanted a hero, and I wanted a chance to leave.” He sighed, and shook his head, “I never had the stomach for violence, back then. To this day my heart still sinks at the thought of fighting another human being, no matter how necessary the fight may be.”

“You fight ogres instead,” Belle nodded, remembering the stories, his reputation. “You all but seek them out.”

“The first ogres war ended during my tenure in the infantry,” Rumpelstiltskin told her. “My whole battalion was credited with that final battle. I returned home a hero, and not a drop of human blood was on my hands.”

“And your wife was happy?” Belle asked, “You said that was what she wanted.”

“My wife was too unwell to celebrate, upon my return,” Rumpelstiltskin replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Our son’s birth had been hard on her. She only survived a few days after my return before succumbing to the sickness.”

Suddenly, Belle’s petty jealousy seemed ridiculous, and she felt ashamed of herself. She impulsively took his hands in hers, awash with sympathy for him. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she murmured, “that must have been awful.”

“It… it should have been,” he replied. “But we barely knew one another, and I had a child to raise, so I had little time to sink into melancholia. Once again, I planned to settle in and become a spinner, but the village had other ideas.”

“They wanted their hero to defend them,” Belle guessed, and Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head.

“Indeed they did. And when they asked, I obliged: I was more than willing, considering the status it would afford my boy growing up. I know that I would never have been able to do so without that stupid, reckless, wonderful book. Whenever I felt weak or afraid, I asked myself what Saracen would do, and pretended I was big and strong, unafraid, as opposed to the scared boy that I still was inside. Because of that bravery, Bae grew up beloved by the village, safe and well-fed. I did that until I didn’t need to anymore.”

“Saracen lent you his strength,” Belle smiled. Her mind was whirring with questions, most of them about the child she’d never heard a word of until this moment. But she kept them to herself: this was a quiet place, a peaceful place, and for once in her curious life Belle decided to honour someone’s privacy. For now, at least.

“I have something like that,” she told him, softly. “ _Her Handsome Hero_  was my mother’s favourite. She gave me this copy in this very spot, in fact.” She pulled the book from the folds of her cloak, and showed him. “It was hers when she was a girl, and she read it to me here one night, by moonlight and a lantern. When I read it it’s like… it’s like the world is a poem, structured and romantic, swelling and adventurous. The world is how she described it, and I can hope that someday it will feel like that for real. That my life will be full of love and passion and adventure.”

“Books allow us a glimpse of the life we wish for,” he murmured, and she nodded. "I’m sure it will find you, my Lady. How could it possibly not?”

Belle smiled at that, blushing a little at the warmth in his eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to disrespect something that actually mattered to you.”

He shook his head, “The things that matter are worth fighting for. Nothing you say could make Saracen’s story mean less to me, warts and all – blood, entrails and all.” He grinned, slyly, and she warmed  at the wickedness in his smile. He was beautiful in the moonlight, careworn and strong and kind. It felt like he bore his soul to her in those little comments and pieces of honesty.

“And you can call  _Her Handsome Hero_  ‘insipid’ until you’re blue in the face,” she replied. “I’ll still remember my mother’s voice wrapped around every word. I’ll still want to fall into it and never come out.”

“Lady Belle-“

“Just Belle, please,” she pleaded. “I think we know each other well enough now to dispense with the titles.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, and swallowed. “Belle… I just wanted thank you, for sharing this with me. I am truly honoured.”

“You started it,” she shrugged, “Why did you, anyway? Why did you tell me all that?”

“Well, why did you tell me?” he asked, with a half shrug. “Simple quid pro quo?”

Belle shook her head, “No.” She sighed, honest to her bones, to the very last. “I told you because I wanted you to know the truth of me,” she admitted . “I don’t know why it feels so important that you do, but I… I  didn’t want you to think me some flighty little knight’s daughter. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“And I you,” he agreed.

“You didn’t want me to think of you as a flighty princess?” she snickered, “While you’d be fetching in a pretty dress, that was never a danger, I promise.”

He laughed through his nose, and shook his head. “No, I mean… I didn’t want you to think me some power-obsessed, brutish warrior. I admired Saracen, yes, emulated him when I could, but I never wanted to  _become_  him. And I believe I know enough of you now to know that you wouldn’t give a man such as he the time of day.”

“But why did that matter?” she asked, “My father plays host to knights like that all the time, and I can keep a civil tongue. Your stay wouldn’t have been affected by my low opinion.”

“Because of just that: I want nothing but your highest opinion,” he told her, earnestly. His eyes were so deep and dark, the whole world warm and tense, and her hand was still wrapped in his strong fingers, his eyes locked on hers. Belle’s breath caught in her chest.

“You have it,” she told him, honestly. The moment stretched, and Belle could hear her heart thundering in her ears. For a moment – a wonderful, terrible, beautiful moment – she thought he might kiss her.

Panicked and flushed and out of her wits, Belle suddenly stood. She clutched her book to her chest like a shield.

“Belle?” Rumpelstiltskin frowned, rising to his feet with her, but she shook her head. She felt unable to look at him, for fear she’d never look away. 

Belle didn’t want to marry, or to fall in love, especially not with a landed veteran knight who’d had his fill of adventure. He’d put her away in his house, his little wife. She’d never do anything but read about the world and run his household. She’d become her mother, and that was nothing of what she wanted, no matter how much she suddenly wanted him. 

She knew with sickening certainty that a line had been crossed somewhere. Men who weren’t looking for wives didn’t look at women like that. Rumpelstiltskin looked at her like he wanted to hold onto her with both arms, and never ever let go. There was so much adoration in his eyes she could barely breathe, for all that they’d known each other just three days. For all that he would be gone in four more, and she’d never see him again.

Belle wasn’t looking for love, not of that sort, and she had no desire to be a wife. So why did the thought of him leaving and never looking back feel like a knife in her chest?  

Belle’s courage failed her; she turned on her heel and dashed back to the house, and didn’t look back.


	3. Chapter 3

Belle slept badly that night, tossing and turning, trying not to think too hard. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the hurt in his expression right before she’d turned her back and run away. Every time she fell asleep, she dreamed about what might have happened if she’d stayed.

Marriage had never held any appeal to Belle. For all that she knew her mother and father had been happy together, Sir Maurice had never let Colette come and go as she pleased. He had feared of the dangers the world posed, and she had loved him more than her planned adventures. 

Belle, however,  was unafraid of dragons or storms or highwaymen. What she was afraid of was the thought of another man having a hold on her the way her father did, holding her back. She was afraid of once again having her fate rest in the hands of another. And, distressingly, she was afraid of what she would say if Rumpelstiltskin asked her to come home with him, to tend his library and bear his children, to be his wife. She didn’t know if she could trust herself to turn him down, if he looked at her a certain way. If he smiled at her, if his dark eyes gleamed, if he touched her hand and set her pulse to racing.

He was all she dreamed to become: a hero, an adventurer, a protector of the weak, an explorer of the unknown. But she doubted he’d ever let his wife follow his path.

His hands had been so strong and warm, and his heart was so good, as pure and sweet and honest as she’d ever imagined a hero could be. He was funny, clever, a little wicked and devious but gentle, kind, never mocking or teasing to wound, only in jest. He could never bully, and never be cruel: she couldn’t imagine him even capable of such things.

He was a true rarity: a good man with a sharp mind and kind heart, and he could make her laugh like no one she’d ever met.

She could love him, she thought, if she let herself. And therein lay the problem.

Belle awoke early, and dressed herself in her plainest white blouse and blue dress. She had no care for her appearance this morning, too wrapped up in her thoughts. She found her own breakfast in the kitchens – a roll of bread, fresh from the oven, an apple and a few slices of cheese – and resolved to find a quiet place to read the day away. She’d lived her whole life in the castle, she reasoned: if anyone could find a place to hide, she could. Why she kept feeling the need to hide in her own home was a question she was still no closer to answering.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t force her to marry him: he hadn’t even asked her, and for all she knew he didn’t even intend to! And even if he did, her father would never pressure her to leave his side without her consent, so what in the world was she afraid of? 

But then, the thought of him leaving at the end of the week and never coming back made her heart twist and clench in her chest.

She found a chair in the corner of her father’s study. She knew that Rumpelstiltskin’s sense of propriety would prevent him from seeking her there, so she curled up and settled in, the well-loved words of her novel a safe harbour from her stormy thoughts. Belle lost track of how long she spent in that chair, hidden from the world beyond. Hours passed, and all she knew of it was the sun drifting across the sky.

At last her stomach rumbled, and Belle was forced to set the book aside and venture out in search of food. She was at the top of the stairs when she saw him, at the bottom, looking up at her.

He’d been training Andrew again, that much was certain. His shirt was undone to the collarbone and showed just a little of his chest, enough to catch her attention; the sleeves bunched at his elbows, and his breaches and boots were still as tight and fitted as ever. For a moment Belle wondered if she’d slipped into the world of her novel, so perfect an image of the dishevelled and dashing knight did he make.

“Good day, my Lady,” he said, choosing his words with care, and she nodded to him.

“Good day, Rumpelstiltskin,” she replied. Belle felt no need for formalities now, since titles felt so stilted when she’d spent the night in dreams of him. “Are you planning to steal away our stable boy?”

“The lad shows promise with a shield,” he told her, “and dreams of adventure. He asked for some pointers, and I have little better to occupy my time until the southern weather clears. Do you disapprove?”

“On the contrary,” she shook her head. “Anyone with a thirst for adventure must pursue it, no matter their limitations.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he agreed. He sounded a little puzzled by her weighted response, and she felt a moment of victory. For once, it had been she who had managed to imbue a meaning he could not catch, and he was the one caught wrong-footed. “Belle, do you… can we talk about last night?”

“What about last night?” she asked, focusing on her feet as the descended the stairs and not on him. His eyes were steady, watching her. She stopped five steps above him, and the added height giving her a little more steel in her spine.

“Your flight was so sudden… I hope I didn’t cause you any hurt or offence. I would rather die than hurt you.”

“You barely know me,” she reminded him, her tone gentle, not wishing to hurt him with her tacit rejection. “Such promises are premature.”

“I want to know you,” he told her, with such earnest promise that her resolve almost shattered. “I want to know everything about you. Is there something I should know, Belle? Is there some problem here, some reason for your change of heart toward me?”

“I don’t want to spend my life in a library, Rumpelstiltskin,” she told him, at last, the truth finally spoken. “I want to be a hero, like you. I want to see the world and fight monsters and help those in need. I can’t do that if I’m someone’s wife.”

She expected him to nod, with solemn understanding that it could never be, and remove himself from her forever. Perhaps she even have worried he might turn cold, antagonistic, and spit at her about knowing her true place.

She never thought he might smile, relieved and fond, and nod.

“Did anyone say anything about wifehood?” he asked, his voice soft and light, as if happy to have a troublesome obstacle removed.  “You do have a knack for skipping to the end, don’t you?” He ascended a step, toward her; she didn’t back away. “Belle, do you want me to be honest with you? Or would you rather I pretend to be oblivious to all you just implied, and we go on as friends until the end of my visit? I will respect either decision.”

“I want the truth, Rumpelstiltskin,” she told him, lifting her chin. “Always.”

“Then yes, yes, from the first moment you insulted me through your window, I have considered courting you. You’re so bright, Belle, so engaged with the world, so sweet and funny. One smile from you and I was done for. I am rusty at best, and rarely find a woman who captivates my attention… and yet  from that moment on, you are all I think about. Of course the thought to pursue you crossed my mind: how could it not? But you’re so young and so very beautiful… it seemed cruel to announce intentions. I didn’t want my affections to force you into a relationship with a man your father’s age, whom you could not care for in return.”

“If you’d announced your intentions, you’d never have come this far,” she admitted, with a small smile. Her stomach dropped as his face fell, closed off, and it was clear he’d read a rejection from her words. “Oh, no!” she cried, “I only meant… I meant that I never intended to marry anyone at all! I would have rebuffed any man’s advances. I want to see the world, to be a hero, to ride through the lands as you have and experience all I’ve only read about. I can’t do that from a manor house, as someone’s wife.”

“You could do that from a horse, though. You could do that beside a husband who knows these lands and could protect you, and teach you to protect yourself,” he said. “A marriage doesn’t have to be restrictive, Belle. Marriage can… marriage should be about being in love, about wanting to share a whole, happy life together. No matter that life may be.”

“Are you saying that marriage to you would be like that?” she asked, her voice softer and weaker than she wished it. Even she could hear the vulnerability seeping through, her youth and inexperience with love clear as day. “Loving? Whole and… and happy?” 

She barely knew him; it was absurd to crave an answer to that question. Even worse to admit that she hadn’t even considered that possibility. Adventuring alone would have been wonderful, but she had to admit that the prospect was a little 

daunting nonetheless. Rumpelstiltskin could be a welcome relief to loneliness, strong protection against danger, and a wise guide in strange realms. He was kind and funny, clever and well-read. She couldn’t imagine a better travelling companion.

She’d known him scant days, and yet she knew all she needed to know.

“I’m saying that I wish you only happiness, Belle,” he said, softly, another step higher, and then another. Soon their faces were level and just inches apart, and he was smiling with such sweet warmth, tinged with just a hint of darker intent that made her skin grow hot all over. “And that I would be honoured to be the one to bring you that happiness. I know that you would make me happy.”

“And the other part?” she asked, unable to stop herself, “The… loving part?”

He smiled at her, a smile so small and yet so infinite she felt her heart skip in her chest. A smile of intention, and of possibility, meant just for her. “That’s the part that comes with courtship, does it not? So long as it is given the chance. I think we have that chance, don’t you?”

Belle nodded: she was unable to help herself, honest to the last. She could love him, that much she knew, and it seemed he felt the same way. Belle felt as if she stood at the edge of a great precipice, looking down into a chasm far below, ready to jump, ready to fall or to fly. Her heart raced beneath her ribs, and she had to look down, away from his deep, dark eyes, for fear she would drown in them. 

“So… you’re courting me?” she asked, all of a sudden out of breath and trembling at his proximity. Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, and nodded.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I’m courting you.”

He leaned forward, and his mouth met hers in the softest, sweetest kiss Belle could imagine, as light as a feather and twice as gentle. It was Belle who leaned forward, who deepened the kiss by sliding her hands into his hair – as soft as she’d imagined, warm and silky between her fingers – to kiss him deeper, to feel him pressed against her. His tongue ran gently along the seam of her lips, and instinctively she opened her mouth, allowing him access to slip inside and kiss her still deeper.

Belle moaned, her eyes sliding shut and her whole body leaning against him, his arms wrapped tight around her so that no daylight fell between them. He kissed her with slow thoroughness, with firm and delicious intent, and Belle surrendered utterly to it, adoring every moment that it lasted, her whole body singing where it met with his.

Finally, he pulled back, caressing her hot cheek with one hand. He smiled  at her flushed face and heavy breathing, her bright eyes and swollen lips, and kissed her again, soft and brief, before stepping back and away. The look in his eyes told her it had taken all his restraint to do so.

“I was going to find some food, if you wished to join me?” Belle’s voice shook just a little, and Rumpelstiltskin nodded. She descended the steps to meet him, and they walked to the kitchens together, hand-in-hand. 

The kitchens were empty when they arrived: it was luncheon for the serving staff, and even the maid who had been cleaning up scarpered when she heard two sets of footsteps approaching. Belle thought of calling for someone, but Rumpelstiltskin, to Belle’s surprise, took charge. Belle had been contended with a simple solution, and began to gather a couple of bread roles and a block of cheese from the pantry, intending to eat them outside. Rumpelstiltskin had had other ideas.

He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, granting Belle a happy view of his toned lower arms, tan and muscled from years of battle. A long scar ran along his wrist, and she fixated on it, wondering how on earth one sustained such an injury and yet had the hand survive in tact.

Then she wondered what it would be like to run her tongue along that long seam. His skin would be a little salty, she imagined, and rough but soft and supple, warm beneath her mouth. Belle caught herself there, and blushed bright scarlet at her own shameless thoughts. Rumpelstiltskin raised an eyebrow at her sudden fluster, and Belle murmured something about the heat of the ovens.

“You can cook?” she asked, using her surprise at his skill to cover her blushes. Rumpelstiltskin gave her a quizzical smile.

“I told you I was lowborn, remember? A man with little has to learn to make do with what he has, and there was a time between my maturity and my joining the infantry when I had to survive on my own. I won’t poison you, my lady, never fret.”

“You needn’t call me that now, you know,” she pointed out. She stared as he skilfully chopped the vegetables he’d found in the pantry in smooth, clean motions, throwing them all into a large wooden bowl to create a salad. “My lady, I mean. I thought that courtship implied the end to formalities?”

“It does,” he confirmed, “But… I like to call you that, sometimes,” he murmured, his eyes fixated on his work and not on her. “Unless it offends you?”

“It doesn’t, I’m just curious why,” she assured him. Belle leaned back against the countertop next to him, looking up into his face as he worked hard not to look back. “Is there something wrong with my name?”

“No, of course not,” he said, quick to assure her, “Your name is beautiful, I enjoy saying it. It’s just that I am a fool, and ‘my lady’…” he sighed, and shook his head,  “it contains a possessive; implies a connection. Forgive me, but I enjoy the thought of somehow being connected to you. Of you somehow being my lady, in whichever way you chose to be.”

“Oh,” Belle murmured, the heat having returned to her cheeks. It seemed that, once granted the freedom to court her in earnest, Rumpelstiltskin was more than capable of just the kind of romance Belle had always admired in her books. She had dreamed about such sentiments, of course she had; all little girls did. She had never imagined how she would feel, were the situation to ever present itself.

He was looking at her now, from behind the shaggy curtain of his dark, silver-streaked hair. Vulnerability and embarrassment warred in his eyes with such sincerity and devotion that Belle could hardly bear to look. He meant every word, however ridiculous such a thought sounded, however impossible it seemed. In whichever way she chose, he’d said, leaving the option open to her. A knight’s chosen lady could be patron, wife or lover, or a combination of the three. He left it in her hands how much power she wished to wield; he’d left himself in her hands.

“I could be a cruel, heartless thing, for all you know” she warned him. “I am still all but a stranger, after all, and yet you already devote yourself.”

“You’re not cruel or heartless, Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin told her. His smile that seemed both fond and teasing, and it was a smile she recognised. “I don’t think you have a single drop of darkness in your wonderful, shining heart. And doesn’t any good suitor devote himself? Is it not the place of the courting knight to lay himself at the mercy of his lady?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Belle admitted, surprised into  honesty. She was both taken aback and captivated by him, by the utter sincerity with which he spoke every word that left his soft, warm lips. “I have never been courted before. You could make a dozen missteps and I’d hardly notice.”

He thought about that for a moment, as he set the salad aside and reached into the cold cupboards behind him for ingredients. Belle watched, mesmerised, as he cracked two eggs into the bowl with clean, practiced hands, and whisked them quickly with a fork to combine them with pureed fish, grated cheese and several oily liquids. The result was thick, salty dressing, which he then poured over the chopped vegetables and leaves.

“Is it true that you have rebuffed every other man who has made his intentions known?” he asked, at last, as if dumbfounded by the thought.

“I told you,” Belle shrugged, a little self-conscious under his intense stare. “I have no intention to be any man’s little wife. My mother promised me that when I reached the age of twenty-five, I should be free to travel and do as I chose. But when she died…”

“Your father became protective of his only child, and had you remain here under his protection,” Rumpelstiltskin finished. Belle nodded, a little surprised by his perception.

“Yes, he did.”

“Then as I see it, you are left with two options,” he replied, returning to the pantry and rummaging for a moment, his back to her. Belle watched as he bent at the waist to retrieve something, and caught herself rather lewdly ogling his rear end in his leather trousers, like a common peasant girl! She wondered if this was what happened when any woman found herself courted by a man she found attractive. Was it natural to become so wanton so quickly?

She had thought that her books had exaggerated the effects of reciprocated affection and demonstrated passion. It was clear now that she had been mistaken.

Rumpelstiltskin emerged victorious a moment later, a half roast chicken Belle  remembered from last night’s dinner held aloft. “Victory!” he cried, and for a moment he looked so happy and so ridiculous that Belle couldn’t contain an affectionate giggle.

“Chicken and salad?” Belle asked, and Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

“Simple, but a little more refined than a simple block of cheese and bread. Although the bread will be a helpful addition,” he allowed, in deference to her heroic efforts in placing two thick rolls in a basket.

“We could eat outside?” she suggested, “By the lake?”

He smiled at that, catching her reference to the previous night immediately. “I’d like that,” he said, and then his smile turned sly. “So long as there is an understanding that this time no one runs without due provocation.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but nodded, “Deal,” she said, and he held out his hand for her to shake.

“Deal,” he agreed. His grip was firm and warm as he took her hand, not shaking it but instead raising it to his lips and gracing her knuckles with a tender kiss.

Belle blushed, the soft brush of his mouth on her skin a warm reminder of their kiss from earlier. She wondered if he would kiss her again, by the lake. She hoped he would.

“Shall we?” he arranged several thick slices of the chicken on top of the vegetables, and placed the salad bowl in with the bread in the basket, along with two silver forks. He picked it up in one hand, and crooked his other arm for Belle to take. His forearm was thick and warm, evident muscle firm under her hand. Belle remembered with a sharp burst longing those arms wrapped around her. 

“Yes, let’s.” She smiled up at him, happy warmth flooding her cheeks at his answering smile. She had never had anyone seem so truly and undeniably happy just to be in her company, and she was a little taken aback to find that she more than shared the sentiment. 

“How did you know your way around our kitchens so well?” she asked, curiously, after they’d slipped out of the kitchen door and started down the path to the lake. “You’re a guest, and have only been with us a few days.”

Rumpelstiltskin coughed, a little embarrassed, but he looked her in the eye despite his evident shyness. “I dined down there the other night, rather than sit with you and your father,” he admitted, at last. “I am a simple man, Belle, and when I feel out of my depth, I tend to retreat to simple places.”

“You felt out of your depth with my father?” Belle asked, astounded. “You don’t need to, he has a great respect for you. And anyway, he has enjoyed the company of men with far less dignity or intelligence than you. I promise you have nothing to fear from him.”

“It ah,” he smiled, a little shamefaced, and looked away, up at the sky. “It wasn’t Sir Maurice who intimidated me,” he admitted. Belle stared at him for a moment, grasping before she finally reached his meaning.

“Me?” she asked, at last, incredulity colouring her voice. “You felt out of your depth around me?”

“I told you before that I had no intention of revealing my feelings toward you,” he reminded her. “I had no notion that you might welcome my affections, and I knew that if I dined with the two of you again I would be incapable of hiding them. I would have made an idiot of myself mooning over you. Even if you hadn’t noticed, your father would have, and then made his observations known. I ate in the kitchens in plain clothes with young Andrew, and then went down to the lake to…”

“To hide?” Belle supplied, both stunned and charmed beyond reason by this side to him. The thought of this strong, handsome, intelligent man being so overcome by her that he’d felt the need to avoid her lest he fall over himself was unbearably sweet. Belle was fast finding that that sweetness – the sweetness that was revealing itself more and more, the more time she spent with him – was just as attractive as his wit and his bravery.

“Yes,” he agreed, “to hide, until I was sure you had retired to your rooms, and I would not encounter you in the halls.” He paused for a moment, and then let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Gods, you must think me a fool,” he murmured.

“No, not in the slightest,” she denied, and smiled shyly up at him, admitting a truth of her own. “I had hidden the night before,” she told him, “in case I ran into you after our second encounter through my window. I thought you would tease me in front of my father, and I would be incapable of keeping from blushing or otherwise reacting to your attention. I was afraid you’d see how smitten I already was, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself.”

“Thank heavens for the full moon, then,” he said. He looked up at the sky with an astonished smile, as they reached the bench where they’d sat the night before. He gestured for her to sit down before doing the same, and placed the basket with their lunch between them. “Or else I might still be hiding in my room or the yard, and you wouldn’t be here beside me.”

“I would still want to be,” she assured him, and she could have sworn he blushed at her remark. “But I wasn’t just hiding from you for fear of appearing foolish or infatuated,” she reminded him, digging into the salad.

“Ah yes,” Rumpelstiltskin mused, waving his fork before him. “Your belief that all suitors would seek to cosset you away in some high tower somewhere, and prevent your adventuress ambitions.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Not an unfounded fear, by the way. Can you think of many knights who would be so liberal with their wives?”

He inclined his head, conceding the point, but something else seemed to weigh on his mind. “You were as afraid to feel any affection for me as I was for you,” he murmured, as if he couldn’t believe his own words. 

Belle tried not to scoff at that, ridiculous as it sounded. “What could you have been  afraid of?”

“Oh, I had nothing to fear in my affection? Is it so common to find a beautiful, intelligent young lady who would willingly spend her time with an ageing veteran knight?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. “It would have hurt me far more to admit feeling for you and to be gently refused, than to keep my helpless affections to myself. I have not courted since Milah, or at least not with any success, and I could not imagine it ending well.”

“You’re the first man to come here who has ever made me laugh like that,” Belle assured him. “Even if you weren’t handsome and kind and strong, that would be enough.”

“Now who’s acting as if we haven’t known each other just three days?” he teased to hide his blushes, and she snickered and half-heartedly batted his shoulder in reproof.

“Well, you were so sweet to me, I felt you were owed a little sweetness in return.”

“Only a little?” Rumpelstiltskin mused, “I must ration my supply, then, if your sweetness is so rare.” 

“You wouldn’t like me if I were sweet,” she teased back, undaunted. “I can’t see you enduring a lady with manners who did nothing but simper and fawn.”

“Indeed,“ he nodded, an odd discomforted look crossing his face. "I receive a little too much of that, in all honesty, and I know that makes me sound unbearably pompous. It is only that people try too hard to repay me for heroics, or otherwise profit from my good will,” he told her. “I am grateful for their adulation, but I’m just a spinner from the Frontlands who happened to pick up the right sword at the right time.”

“But what about the rumours of magic?” she asked, curiously. “I’ve heard you do a little more than run your enemies through.”

He eyed her, as if weighing her up. “Magic is an odd thing,” he told her, at last. “I’ve studied the kind I can summon for some time, and as far as I can surmise it’s the good kind, the light kind. As long as it’s not used frivolously, only for good deeds, then it can be invaluable when facing down an ogre singlehanded. But it’s not to be trifled with.”

“You’re shy about it,” she noted, “it doesn’t sit well with you.”

“Honestly, my lady, I would sleep better without it on my shoulders. Anyone to whom it came naturally, who used it without thought or trepidation, would scare me somewhat. I don’t mind admitting that: it’s healthy to be afraid of what we cannot understand or control.”

“But you use it,” she noted, tearing a bread roll in half and offering him a piece. He took it with a thoughtful expression, turning it over in his hands to distract himself as much as anything, she thought.

“I use it because it is wrong to be able to help and to choose not to. It would be selfish to have the power to stop an ogre attack and choose to let a village die, simply because the magic I can wield frightens me a little.”

“You hold yourself to a very high standard,” she noted, and he nodded, the saddest smile she’d ever seen crossing his face.

“I have a standard to live up to,” he told her, his kind eyes soft and deep, saddened. “My boy, my Baelfire… he saw me as a hero, but he was always kinder and braver by half than I could ever hope to be.”

“Was?” Belle asked, gently. The answer was obvious, and yet she needed to hear it spoken aloud, to understand the detail. Her fingers clutched at his for comfort, he stroked the back of her hand as he replied.

“There was an ogre attack,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Bae was fourteen, and he… he insisted on removing every child from the schoolhouse before following himself. He wouldn’t let me save him, because he knew if I did that others could not be spared. He said …” he took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing, turning to look her in the eye as if to ground himself. “He said that a hero rescues others before himself.”

“He didn’t make it out alive,” Belle murmured, stunned and heartbroken for him, for everything that he had lost. No wonder he saved every village, and never rested, she thought: no wonder he took such pride, such joy, in being able to do so. No wonder he never went home.

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin confirmed, “he was the only casualty that day, my brave boy. Every child in our village was saved, because of mine. Except for mine.” He shook his head, “How could I do anything but try to live up to that? Bae gave his life, the least I can do is give any skill I have, any power in my possession, no matter the cost.” 

“It scares you, yet you do it anyway because it’s the right thing,” Belle surmised. He nodded, chewing and swallowing without looking at her. Belle’s heart swelled with admiration. The feat of overcoming that fear and those terrible memories seemed so much greater now that she had seen a glimpse of the man behind that helmet and breastplate. He was just as he’d said: a simple man, a kind man, a man far smaller and more vulnerable than his reputation. He was afraid of his abilities, and yet unwilling to let others suffer for that fear. He had made himself a hero to live up to memory of his lost son, not to become wealthy or famous, or for a love of battle.

Belle had been infatuated with the hero who had ridden into the manor gates three days previous, traded quips and flirtatious remarks through her window, teased ands argued with her at dinner. But she knew now that she could love the gentle, kind man sat before her, and that she wanted to, that he deserved to be loved and that she wanted to be the one to do so.

On impulse, Belle leaned forward and kissed him again, catching him by surprise. Her lips pressed against his, soft and tender, and her hand came to cup his cheek. After a moment he gathered himself and kissed her back, his hand stroking into her hair as he gently took charge and deepened their kiss. 

They pulled apart after a moment, and Belle rested her forehead against his, smiling while Rumpelstiltskin appeared stunned.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, and Belle let out a soft little laugh.

“You are the sweetest, dearest man,” she said, and kissed him again, quite unable to stop himself.

“I’m not complaining, believe me,” he breathed, when she’d pulled away. He looked drugged, insensible, and swayed toward her as if pulled by some irresistible force. “Just confused as to what I did to deserve such favours. Aren’t I supposed to be courting you?”

“You weren’t kissing me,” Belle shrugged, giving him a winsome smile. “I thought I should redress that omission.”

“You’re quite right,” he nodded, with a stupid, happy grin that made Belle laugh softly for pure joy. “How silly of me, to spend any time at all not kissing you when I could be. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” Belle replied, firmly, but her foolish matching grin gave her away. 

He chuckled at that, “As my lady commands,” he replied, and Belle felt an odd, warm tingle down her spine at those words on his lips. Apparently Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the possessive nature of those words: she wanted him to belong to her as much as he did.

He brought his lips to hers again, and this time there was no hesitation in his kiss. His mouth caressed hers, his tongue coming to trace and play with hers, and Belle wrapped her arms around him as his hands came to brace on the bench behind her, bracketing her. She was all but in his lap, lost in his kiss, and Belle couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be.

The sun was warm, and Rumpelstiltskin was kissing her with such gentle adoration that Belle could barely breathe. Just once, just for now, all was right in the world. Belle wished it would never end.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Belle and Rumpelstiltskin spent much of the afternoon in blissful seclusion. 

They shared bits of their bread and salad, and kissed at every opportunity, conversation forsaken for other forms of communication. . The day was warm, sunny and sweet smelling, and Rumpelstiltskin kissed her sweetly, reverently, with delicious passion but without any apparent demand or expectation for anything more than her kisses in return. Belle could imagine no better way to spend an afternoon, or a lifetime for that matter.

After hours had past, they at last found the evening drawing in, and the air too cool to sit out comfortably. Rumpelstiltskin gathered the remains of their food back into the basket, and Belle watched him with a fond smile.

“I should eat in the kitchen again tonight,” Rumpelstiltskin thought aloud. Belle’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?” she asked. “Surely you can’t still be worried I’ll discover your affection for me? Because I hate to break the bad news to you, but that secret is out.”

He gave her a dry look that was utterly ruined by the adoration in his eyes, and then suddenly surged forward and kissed her again, deep and urgent and with undeniable passion, both hands bracketing her face. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, and when they finally parted for air, Belle was flushed and gasping.

“That’s why,” he rasped, stepping back. “Because the moment you say anything clever, or funny, or sweet, or anything at all, then that’s my first response. How long do you think it would take your father to find out?”

Belle thought about that for a moment. “You might be right,” she admitted. She looked down at her traitorous hand, that was even now itching to take his, despite appearances and necessary secrets.

“You should eat with my father,” she told him. “You’re a guest, not a servant, and he will feel neglected if you chose to absent yourself. I want him to think well of you, so I’ll take my dinner in my chambers. I do that most nights anyway: I won’t be missed.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured. When she caught his eye his gaze was so full of passion and intention that Belle blushed to her roots. “I will certainly miss you.”

Belle smiled shyly, overwhelmed by those eyes, and nodded. “I’ll miss you too,” she promised, “but it’s necessary, you said so yourself.”

“Indeed, I did,” he said, with profound regret. Then he seemed to realise something, and gave her a sidelong glance. “You want him to think well of me, hmm?”

“Of course I do,” she told him, as if it should be obvious. “If he hates you, then it will be that much harder when he discovers the truth about us.”

“There’s a truth to be discovered?” he asked, with an odd weight to his words, as if there was more to what he was asking than an afternoon kissing in the sun.

“You’re courting me, and I’m very much enjoying being courted,” she informed him. “I can’t imagine a situation where I would want anyone else courting me. I… hope you intend this to last beyond today? If this is just a brief infatuation for you I’d rather know now.”

He gave a hoarse laugh, and then he was kissing her yet again, his mouth now a familiar sensation on hers, welcome and warm, heated. She kissed him back with equal fervour, grasping at his soft hair for balance, giving as much as she received as they devoured one another. “Belle,” he said, hoarsely, his forehead resting against hers as he panted for breath, “Belle.”

“Yes?”

“There is nothing brief about my affection for you,” he promised her. “In fact, the depth and strength of it is a little frightening, considering how little time we’ve known one another. But I intend our relationship to last as long as you will have me.”

“Good,” she breathed, and their matching grins could have lit every candle and fire in the castle.

—

Belle slept early that night. She had felt the sharp pang of missing Rumpelstiltskin since the moment they were parted. She knew she had been shameless that afternoon, and that her father would be hardly understanding of such behaviour. But Belle had hardly been able to help herself: from the moment she had looked at him and seen who he really was, seen the kind, sweet, simple man lurking beneath the hero’s visage, she had been quite unable to keep her hands off him. In her defence, she thought, it wasn’t as if he had been at all restrained either.

And, she mused, staring at her ceiling in the dark, it was unlikely that she would ever find another man like him. Not only a man capable of inspiring both her laughter and her passion, of exciting mind and heart and body all at once, but such a man also willing to allow her the freedom she craved, were they someday married. 

Even if their passion waned after a few months together, that fact didn’t change. He would allow her to have her adventures, to travel. He’d even said he would come with her, defend her and protect her, guide her through the world he knew so well. 

They would be friends: that much Belle was sure of. And that was enough, it had to be, even if the love she felt looming large and impossible on the far horizon never materialised, or faded after a year or two. She had liked him from the moment she met him, before she’d ever felt that spark of attraction. 

And he would never lock her away.

What did the time they’d known each other, mere days, factor in the face of that? Sir Gaston, the only other man to make advances to her, would have locked her away as a pretty little treasure in his father’s inherited castle, and she’d have looked forward to a life bossing servants and hosting parties. With Rumpelstiltskin she could be free: he’d said so himself.

She had a few more days to reason it out, she reminded himself: he wasn’t due to leave for a few days yet.

That comfort allowed her at last to sleep. She spent her night in restless dreams chasing him, dancing with him, kissing him in meadows. 

She awoke with her head still full of him, more infatuated then than she’d been when she’d fallen asleep, and she drifted downstairs in her pretty blue dress in the hopes of catching him in the hall, reading, or in the kitchen at breakfast.

But when she reached the main hall, she found both Rumpelstiltskin and her father waiting for her. Rumpelstiltskin was back in the breastplate and cloak he’d worn that first day he’d arrived, his helmet clutched under his arm.

“Ah, there you are Belle,” Sir Maurice greeted her. “Just in time to bid goodbye to our guest.”

“Goodbye?” Belle frowned, her stomach clenching hard, her whole body feeling like it had just crashed down to earth. “But surely he cannot leave yet! The weather in the south-“

“Has quite cleared,” Rumpelstiltskin said, with deep and heavy regret. “The letter from my associate arrived this morning, informing me of the change. I am needed at home, and must regretfully take my leave of you.”

“You have been a kind guest and a kind friend,” Sir Maurice told him, clasping his arm as Rumpelstiltskin did the same in kind. “You are welcome to return at any time.”

Belle’s mind raced to catch up, the thought of him leaving suddenly dawning harsh and clear and terrible. He couldn’t leave, she thought, panicked, not yet, not before she’d made up her mind. Not before she’d had more time with him, enough time.

There would never be enough time, she thought, never. 

And to know that he would return home alone, to the memory of a dead wife and child… that he would ride into that manor house and be greeted only by solitude, made the parting all the worse. Rumpelstiltskin never rested, never went back, and never took time for himself. If he had to do so now, then he should not do so alone. Belle could distract him, comfort him, help to create new, better memories to light and balance the old. He was so brave, and so strong, but he didn’t have to face this fight alone.

“I will go with you,” she said, her voice ringing out clear as a bell in the hallway. “To the Frontlands, I will go with you.”

“Belle, no,” Sir Maurice’s hand rested hard and heavy on her shoulder. She shrugged him off, her path so clear before her she could hardly see straight. She would go with him now, and they would start their adventures as soon as possible. No one like him would ever come here again, of that she was certain. And if they did, she wouldn’t want them to: she wanted Rumpelstiltskin, and only Rumpelstiltskin, and nothing had ever seemed so clear in all her life. “Your place is here!” her father cried, “What’s brought this on?”

“Belle, your father is right,” Rumpelstiltskin said, but his eyes weren’t half so sure, and all but begged her to defy him. “You need to think about what you’re doing.”

“What is happening here?” Sir Maurice asked, confused, “You barely know him!”

Belle’s mind whirred, and then the perfect answer presented itself, so perfect it was almost the truth. “Sir Rumpelstiltskin has made me an offer of marriage, father,” Belle informed him, silently begging Rumpelstiltskin to back up her lie. “He asked me yesterday, before dinner, and told me to take my time and think it over. I have thought it over.”

“He should have come to me,” Sir Maurice raged, suddenly murderous, rounding on the knight before him. “Before making improper suggestions to my daughter under my own roof!”

“He thought I should be the one to decide,” Belle’s voice held firm, strong, her eyes on Rumpelstiltskin alone. “Now I have. I will go with him, forever.”

Rumpelstiltskin was fighting not to beam at her, she could tell. She gave him an answering smile of reassurance – she meant it, she wanted him, she would go with him. If only he would let her, if only he would not stand in her way.

He gave her a subtle little nod in response, and just like that Belle knew her fate was sealed. She had never been happier.

“This is ridiculous!” Sir Maurice cried, “You can’t just… you can’t just leave!”

“I was always going to leave eventually, father,” Belle reminded him, gently. “And I’ll come back, I promise, but you know I’ve always wanted to travel. Sir Rumpelstiltskin will let me do that, and he’ll protect me while I do. Isn’t that what you’d rather, that I have a hero to defend me while I have my adventures, rather than wandering the world alone?”

“I’d rather you didn’t leave at all,” her father begged. Belle felt tears spring to her eyes at the pain in his, even while she knew she couldn’t back down. It was now or never. If she stayed then she would never leave, and her dreams would die then and there.

“I’ll write,” she promised. “Every day, and I’ll be safe, and looked after. But please, father, please let me go with him.”

“You always did want to get away from here,” Sir Maurice all but whimpered. His voice sounded so small and so broken that Belle had to hug him close, burying her face in the fur of his collar. She would miss him, of course she would, but it was helping neither of them for her to remain in a home she had outgrown. He needed a life away from her as much as she did him. But that didn’t mean the parting didn’t hurt. “You’re too much like your mother.”

“She would want me to go,” Belle reminded him. She was relieved beyond measure when Sir Maurice reluctantly nodded.

“She would,” he agreed, and, at last, he let her go, setting her on her feet, his level gaze meeting Rumpelstiltskin’s. “She’s all I have, sir,” he snapped. “And you have apparently stolen her away, right from under my nose, in a matter of days. If you allow any harm to come to her, any harm at all, then there will be no save haven for you. I have friends the realm over, you understand?”

“I will be hunted down and killed like the dog I am,” Rumpelstiltskin assumed, and Sir Maurice gave a grim nod. “Understood.“

“You have truly decided this so fast?” Sir Maurice sputtered. “Four days, from first meeting to marriage?”

“Many couples don’t meet until their wedding day,” Belle argued back. “But no one decides my fate but me, and it’s out there. Sir Rumpelstiltskin can protect me. Father, this is the best outcome either of us could have hoped for.”

Sir Maurice stared at her, but phrased that way he could hardly argue. Rumpelstiltskin was gaping at her, but Belle hoped he could catch up soon. She supposed it helped their case somewhat that it appeared so much her idea. It did make it far harder for her father to see an older man taking advantage of his young, impressionable daughter.

“I love you, father,” she promised, and kissed Sir Maurice on the cheek. Then she steped forward, and decisively looped her arm with Rumpelstiltskin’s, her elbow brushing his golden helmet. “But my place is out there.”

Sir Maurice nodded, and managed to choke out “I love you too, my Belle.” He kissed her forehead, and shot Rumpelstiltskin a final, murderous glare. And then, as if he could no longer bear witness, he turned around and walked away, out of the hall and out of sight.

“He couldn’t watch you leave,” Rumpelstiltskin sighed. “That came out of nowhere for everyone, then, I take it?”

“You were leaving!” Belle cried, in protest. “I couldn’t just… let you go without me!”

“Clearly not,” he murmured. Then he shook his head. “Come along, my horse is waiting outside. I’m afraid you’ll have to ride behind me, unless you have your own mount?”

She sniffed, trying to focus on the question before her, and the lingering regret of the pain in Sir Maurice’s eyes as he left. “I have a horse of my own,” she told him, “I just need a few minutes to gather my things.”

“So small and fearful now?” Rumpelstiltskin turned to her and looked down from his slight height with such sympathy and regret that Belle almost couldn’t look. “Belle, you needn’t fear that if I leave now I won’t return for you. I told you before that I intended our courtship as more than a passing fancy.”

“I told my father,” Belle said, “That this is my best chance at the adventures I’ve always dreamed about. I won’t let that chance pass me by.”

"This is about your ambitious, heroic plans, then?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, his voice a little strained. Belle couldn’t understand his expression: he almost looked afraid, stricken even. Was he looking for assurance that she wouldn’t force him to go through with the betrothal she’d fabricated for her father? Was he that afraid that she would compel him to marry her against his will, on the back of a few kisses in the sunshine?

“Of course it is,” she chirped back. Her voice was too bright to her own ears, but his shoulders slumped in what she assumed must be relief. Belle saw now that she had clearly spooked him with her careless talk of marriage, and it would not do to pressure him after he’d been so kind to her. She would restrain herself from now on, she decided, and let him dictate the pace. “Tell Andrew I need Philippe saddled up, and I’ll meet you in the stable as soon as I have my things packed.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, but said not another word. Belle watched as he left for the stables, before breaking into a dead run for her chambers before she could change her mind.

She assumed that if she did everything in the same impulsive, emotional whirlwind that had prompted her initial decision, then she would have no time for doubts or for fears. So Belle ran through her room like a hurricane, hauling the huge trunk out from beneath her bed and throwing every dress she could find that she actually liked inside, along with an armful of blouses, petticoats, stockings and undergarments. 

The only ornate gown she packed were her golden dress, for she knew Rumpelstiltskin would insist upon it. She left her mother’s wedding dress, knowing that her father would be happy to supply it later, should it be required; if Rumpelstiltskin ever warmed to the concept of their engagement.

For Belle, that part seemed remarkably simple. For all that leaving home, riding into the sunset and not looking back from her home of twenty-five years, held some trepidation, the thought of getting married did not. Perhaps it was because she’d never foreseen marriage in her future, and thus had not had time to store up fears and trepidations about such an idea. Perhaps it was just because she could not imagine a man more suited to be her husband than Rumpelstiltskin. 

She packed as many books as the trunk would hold, and what few mementos she felt she needed. She would return home at some point, she reasoned, and collect anything she had missed. 

The trunk was too heavy to carry on her own, but thankfully that problem only presented itself just before there was a polite rap on the door. “Lady Belle?” she heard Andrew call, “I was sent to, ah, help with your personal things?”

“Did Sir Rumpelstiltskin think I could not handle this alone?” Belle enquired. There was an awkward pause, and Belle almost laughed to think of the poor boy standing on the threshold of her room, asked to perform the role of a chambermaid.

“He mentioned something about books?” Andrew replied, and Belle rolled her eyes affectionately, for apparently he already knew her too well.

“He’s not incorrect,” Belle called back. She swung the door open to reveal an uncomfortable-looking stable boy. “Could you perhaps carry the trunk down to the stables while I change into my riding clothes?” she asked, “I won’t be long.”

Andrew nodded, and with a grunt of effort hefted her heavy trunk into his arms, and staggered off down the hallway. Belle kept her mind calm as she changed out of her blue dress, and into a pair of tan breaches, a maroon undershirt and ochre blouse. She strapped on a tight leather doublet over the top that cinched tightly enough to double as a corset, and pulled on thick socks and tall brown boots to cover her feet. Finally, she braided her hair over one shoulder, to keep it from catching or falling in her eyes, and eyed herself in her mirror.

She looked like an adventuress, she thought, and the thought brought a beaming smile to her face. Her blue dress she deposited in a cloth bag, along with her scant beauty supplies, the few pieces of jewellery she would not let out of her sight, and Her Handsome Hero. This way, she reasoned, she could change easily if the need allowed along the way, without resorting to rummaging through her trunk.

When she appeared in the courtyard, Andrew was loading her trunk onto a low cart, along with a couple of other cases. Rumpelstiltskin was overseeing the saddling of both his grey stallion and her dappled brown mare, and she was almost upon him before he heard her call and turned around.

His eyes all but bulged from his head at the sight of her, and his stunned gaze traced over her, from the top of he head to the tips of her boots. “Is this appropriate?” she enquired, after a moment. “I don’t have any dresses suitable for riding, and I didn’t think we’d take a carriage.”

“It’s, ah,” he shook his head as if to clear it, and nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s very… fitted.”

Belle frowned for a moment, before his comment and his astonishment registered, and she realised what he meant. He’d only ever seen her in flowing ball gowns and housedresses: they’d never gone riding together. The doublet accentuated her waist and breasts, and the breeches hugged her hips and her legs, showing much more of her figure than any of her dresses had. 

“Thank you?” she tried, and he nodded, his face for a moment all at once open and honest and distracted.

“I think I should be thanking you, in point of fact,” he murmured. Belle blushed, and wondered if he’d express his clear admiration for her outfit with another kiss. But then, as if waking from a dream, he seemed to remember something and his face shut down.  “Forgive me, my reaction was inappropriate,” he continued, backing away from her, his eyes returning to his saddle. “I’m grateful you have comfortable clothing, it will make this impromptu journey easier.”

There was an unfamiliar tension in his voice that Belle did not know how to clear, and when she looked at him there was none of the easy, friendly kindness she had come to expect. His whole expression was cool and polite, closed-off from her, and she had no idea how to break through. An awkward and unpleasant silence stretched between them, as he steadily ignored her, and she tried to think of something to say.

“I didn’t know you’d brought a cart,” she finally said, lamely, and he nodded.

“The cart is a gift from your father,” Rumpelstiltskin informed her. “He said he knew you’d leave too much behind, and that he didn’t trust me to feed you properly.”

“He’s upset,” Belle said, biting her lip, worried. 

“His only child just announced that she’ll be gone within the hour,” Rumpelstiltskin reminded her, his voice harsher than she ever could have expected. Belle recoiled from that tone, hurt and offended, but he didn’t apologise or try to ease her mind. She opened her mouth to argue, to demand an explanation, but Rumpelstiltskin at that moment started calling final instructions to Andrew, and mounted his horse, leaving Belle to trust in the step stool and her abilities to do the same.  He trotted into the courtyard, and she followed close behind. She was grateful then that, without her father’s knowledge, as a girl she had asked her riding instructor to teach her to ride astride as well as side-saddle. She could not imagine how difficult the journey that now faced her would be had that knowledge been denied her.

All of a sudden Belle, was caught with the realisation that this was it, her final moments in her home before the adventure began. Her belly gripped with anxiety, even while her mind thrummed in excitement. It was finally here, and the knowledge left her breathless.

“The cart will follow us,” Rumpelstiltskin explained as she stopped beside him. “Andrew has  agreed to accompany it to the next village, where we will stay the night. One of my own attendants will retrieve it in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Belle smiled at Andrew, and Andrew nodded in response.

“Of course, my Lady,” he agreed, and Rumpelstiltskin smiled thinly.

“He has also agreed to spy for your father, my dear,” he added. “So I would keep that in mind.”

Belle nodded, casting a worried glance to the stable boy. Andrew apparently had not heard, and was too busy securing the last boxes to his cart.

“Are you ready, dear?” he asked, and again he sounded cold, brusque and almost unkind, but Belle didn’t feel strong enough to challenge him right then. It was a loaded question, and she looked back at her home, the only home she’d ever known, with the knowledge that she had forced this situation. She was making herself leave, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to shake her head, to dismount, and to run back inside and to safety.

But if she did that, Belle thought, then she would never leave again. No matter what had suddenly happened to change Rumpelstiltskin, or what danger she might face outside these walls, she had to run into it head-on. No more hiding, no more waiting. Heroes always had to sacrifice their safety and their home for the greater good, and the good was waiting out there for her. 

“Do the brave thing,” she murmured to herself, “and bravery will follow.” She raised her head, and looked at Rumpelstiltskin dead in the eyes, challenging him to defy her. “Yes, Rumpelstiltskin. I’m ready.”

He inclined his head, and without another word, he dug his heels into his horse’s flank, and rode out of the courtyard at a canter. Belle followed, and heard the cart rattling on the stones as it followed behind her. She didn’t look back again, her eyes  set on the gates, and then the horizon beyond, the line of greenish grey that separated the land from the sky. 

Belle would have liked to be engaged in conversation, during that long day’s ride. She would have appreciated a joke, an anecdote, anything to distract and cheer her while her mind grappled with the growing distance between herself and home.  But her companion said not a word as they rode, and his helmet and visor prevented her from reading his expression, or attempting to speak with him. It was a physical barrier to augment the tonal one already in place, preventing her from reaching him or finding comfort in his presence.

Belle tried not to think about her home, the home she’d awoken to that morning that might never be home again. She tried not to wonder if she’d made the right choice, or if Rumpelstiltskin really was the man she believed him to be.

He hadn’t asked her to marry him, she reminded herself. It could be months before they actually to discussed what they truly wanted from one another, and he had sunk into distant, sullen silence for now. He didn’t look like himself, like the man she’d come to like so much in her father’s castle. In his visor he looked like any other knight, like a stranger; like the stranger he was.

After three days of acquaintance, it did now seem terribly impulsive to have set out on this adventure, to promise forever in fact, to a man she knew all but nothing about. 

It didn’t help her homesickness in the slightest. As the miles grew between Belle and her home of twenty-five years, the unease in her gut grew. It would be cowardice itself, she knew, to turn on her heel and ride back home to safety after she had fought so hard and pined for so long to leave. She had planned to leave alone, too, she reminded herself savagely: any protector, any company, was better than none.

Nevertheless, Belle found herself sinking into a discontent and gloom as they rode. They did not stop for lunch; somewhere in the mid-afternoon Belle pulled level with the cart and Andrew handed her bread and an apple, but that was it. By the evening when they reached the village where they would stay for the night, she was all but casting glares in Rumpelstiltskin’s direction. She was starving, exhausted from the long, hard pace of the day, lonesome for his company, and growing colder by the minute.

Andrew was to meet Rumpelstiltskin’s attendant elsewhere, so Belle and Rumpelstiltskin pulled into the stables alone. Belle was fuming at his treatment of her after a day of isolation, and the moment they had dismounted and his helmet left his head, she exploded.

“Have I displeased you somehow?” she demanded of him.  Rumpelstiltskin just raised an eyebrow at her as he secured the door to his horse and Philippe’s stalls.

“Whatever gave you that impression?” Rumpelstiltskin enquired, and Belle glared at him. “Have I not guided and protected you all day? Have I not done all a protector could be expected to do?”

“You have ignored me since we left home!” she all but shouted, resisting the childish urge to stamp her foot. “If this is how we are to proceed, I’d like to know in advance. I could have ridden on the cart and talked to Andrew, for all the company you were!”

“Then why did you not?” he demanded, harshly.

“Because I was foolish enough to believe you might show a little kindness, and talk to me instead of pretending I didn’t exist!”

“I have not been unkind to you,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped back. “I apologise, my Lady, that my courtship was cut short this morning, but you made it clear what you wanted this morning.” There was something lingering under his uncharacteristic coldness, something tangled and anxious. Belle got the feeling he was as upset as she was, but far less willing to voice his complaint.

“A little conversation would have been appreciated,” Belle sniffed. Rumpelstiltskin nodded, his hands resting on his sword hilt, posture defensive.

“I would note that you made the choice to come with me,” he said. “Out of the blue and without giving either one of us the chance to think about this. I apologise that I didn’t know what to say today, but I assumed you would not need comforting, when you were so certain that this adventure was what you wanted. When you remained quiet, so did I.”

“I have never been away from my home without my father before,” she told him. “And I barely know you. I didn’t know how to ask for comfort; surely you can understand that?”

“That we are still all but strangers is a fact that was pointed out to you numerous times,” he said. “Don’t blame me for it. You seemed certain enough this morning that the horizon was enough for you. I apologise if it was not all you hoped, but that is hardly my fault. I didn’t ask you along, you made that decision all on your own.”

Belle stiffened, went pale and quiet, and she felt her stomach plummet and her heart race in her chest. He was right: never once had he asked her to follow him. He had warned her, cautioned her, done all he could to make her aware of the risks, but he had never actually asked her, or indicated that he desired her company.

“You never told me no, either,” she argued, weakly. “You had every chance to tell me I wasn’t wanted, and you left it in my hands.”

“And thus you made your decision,” he agreed. “Forgive me if it is not all you dreamed of.”

“That remains to be seen,” she retorted. He inclined his head. He looked so sad for a moment that Belle wanted nothing more than to fall at his feet, beg him to like her again, to forgive her whatever wrong she had committed against him. But he had wronged her, that much she knew. Belle had needed him today, and Rumpelstiltskin had all but deserted her. it was not an auspicious sign for their new relationship.

She turned from him, and left the stables without a word. The night was cool and dark, the moon hidden by cloud and the smoke from the village’s houses and places of work, and Belle wondered why she’d always imagined her adventures full of laughter under a full moon. This was the reality, she thought: arguments in stables, and clouds covering the stars. 

“Where have you gone?” she murmured under her breath, her hands knotting before her. Belle didn’t know whom she addressed: her absent companion, or her brave former self.


	5. Chapter 5

“Not going in, my Lady?” Rumpelstiltskin appeared at her side, and Belle stiffened, screwing her courage and bracing her shoulders.

“You carry the money, Sir Knight,” she replied, with equal formality and dignity. “I would not presume to make arrangements without you.”

“Very wise,” he nodded, and he could have sounded snide but somehow it came out thoughtful, even approving instead. It was so much at odds with the unpleasantness he’d shown mere minutes ago, and Belle wondered if she would ever be able to anticipate his moods. Never the less, her hand itched to bridge the gaping space between them, and to touch his hand.

“Sometimes,” she agreed, and tried not to notice the odd sidelong look he shot her.

He opened the door, and indicated she should enter ahead of him. The door shut behind them with a small clicking sound, which Belle was certain would not sound ominous under any other circumstances. She hoped Andrew would return from his errand soon, if only to bid her goodbye. The thought of losing that last tie to home, with Rumpelstiltskin still so quiet and so far away, twisted and clenched in Belle’s stomach.

Rumpelstiltskin had arranged ahead of time for a room to be set aside, although the innkeeper did raise his eyebrows at the sight of Belle. “Sir Knight, you return,” he greeted, cordially, and Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head.

“Indeed,” he said, “and I would like to introduce my companion, Lady Belle of Marchland House.” The innkeeper’s eyes slid to Belle, who dropped into a curtsey.

“It’s an honour to meet you, my lady,” the innkeeper said. “Will you be needing two rooms then, sir?”

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Belle, who blinked back at him. How was she to tell him in front of company, she wondered, that she did not want to sleep alone? That the thought of doing so in a strange inn, far from home and with all that was ahead of her looming so close, scared her more than she liked to admit? Scared her far more, in fact, of sleeping in the same room as him before their wedding night. She could no more imagine his being less than a gentleman any more than she could him suddenly deciding to run the innkeeper through there and then. He had been unkind to her today, but his presence still felt comforting and protective when compared to the prospect of facing her new life alone.

“I think that would be best,” Rumpelstiltskin decided, at last. Belle dug her fingernails into her palms, and continued to be brave, focusing on the little bite of pain and not on the thought of spending the night alone in a strange room in a strange place. This should be exciting, she thought crossly, the first day of a whole new life, a better life, a life of adventure and wonder, and he was ruining it!

“Very good, sir.” The innkeeper nodded and called for his assistant. He must have been his son, Belle thought, for the lad could not be out of his teens, gangly and awkward but with the innkeeper’s even features and short blonde hair. “Thomas, please take our guests to their rooms,” he ordered, and the boy nodded.

“Come this way,” he bid them, and took the bag from Belle’s shoulder, leading them both out of the small parlour and up a flight of stairs.

Belle’s room was the first on a long corridor, and the décor within was similar to that outside. Everything was made of the warm, dark wood that the region was famous for, from the wall panels to the floors to the bedframe and the small vanity beside the small window. Belle crossed the room to look outside, and saw that the village square lay below, dark in the moonless night and lit by only a few torches. She didn’t look back; she waited for the door to close behind the two men, and to be left all alone. 

She heard murmurs behind her, the clink of Rumpelstiltskin’s heavy purse: tipping on her behalf, she assumed, as she had nothing of her own on her person. Her money was in the heavy trunk, an oversight on her part that she would soon rectify. Already she was wondering if it wouldn’t be best for all involved to part with Rumpelstiltskin the next morning, and follow her original plan of travelling the world alone.

The door closed, and she heard footsteps in the hall. She turned to find her bag, and was surprised to see Rumpelstiltskin still standing there. He looked both smaller and larger here than he had in her home, and far more at ease than Belle herself felt. He filled the corner, between the end of the bed and the door, and seemed to be taking pains not to step closer to her. The dark concealed his features, but she could still make out the glint of his eyes, reflected in the candlelight from the bedside table.

Belle supposed this was a potentially threatening position for him to take, alone in her bedchamber, without any protector or chaperone on hand to defend her virtue. Belle was glad to find that, for all her apprehension and sudden homesickness, and for all that she was still furious with him, she was not yet afraid of Rumpelstiltskin. She hoped he wouldn’t give her any reason to be.

“Your room is down the hall,” she reminded him. She kept her voice soft and cool, neither forgiving nor confrontational. “This one is mine.”

“I am aware,” he nodded. He sounded tentative, as if he didn’t know how to proceed, and she knew the feeling. He tried to step closer, and then checked himself, his hand half raised and extended to her. He seemed at a loss for words, but he had created this situation, so as far as Belle was concerned he could be the one to fix it. 

She ignored him, and busied herself taking charge of her leather bag, unpacking the clothing and small toiletries she had brought from home. Her Handsome Hero rested on the bedside table, and it gave her a small comfort to see it sat there, a little piece of home in this strange new place.

“Belle, we need to talk,” he said at last, and she looked at him with careful and feigned disinterest.

“Is it Belle again, then?” she asked, “Not ‘my Lady’?”

He pressed on, ignoring her barb, “I think you should return home with Andrew,” he said, to her surprise. “In the morning, I mean. This was clearly a mistake.” 

Belle gaped at him, incandescent and all but speechless with rage, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Oh, you think so, do you?” she snarled, after a few deep breaths, and Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

“It’s for the best. You said to make up my mind, and I can’t ask you to stay with me when this is clearly not working. You should go and be safe with your father.”

“So this is my choice?” she demanded. “One man who will decide my fate for me, or another? Hear me now, Rumpelstiltskin, and hear me well: if you cast me out tomorrow morning, then I will take Philippe and ride for the horizon. Either way, I will not go home to my father.”

“So that’s it,” he nodded, bitterly, as if she had proven some terrible point for him. He stepped forward, into the light, and Belle stared him down. His face was more heavily lined than she had ever seen it, twisted with anger or something close to it. She didn’t flinch.

“So what’s what?” she spat back, and he glared at her.

“This, us. It’s an adventure you want, and you’ll have it with or without a protector. With or without me.”

“I won’t travel with someone who doesn’t want me!” she informed him. “I am quite capable alone, but I told you, I want to be away from home. That it’s going to be an adjustment, and not an easy one, doesn’t make me doubt my decision. At least, not my decision to leave home: there are other choices I’ve made that are alarming right now, I have to say.”

“What are you saying, Belle?” he asked, and there was an aching vulnerability, a plea for shelter and acceptance, beneath his voice that took the sting from his previous words. Belle didn’t understand why he had so suddenly become so cruel and authoritarian, so unlike himself, but the answer seemed close at hand. Her mind grasped for it, to make that connection between what she knew and the man who stood before her, even as he spoke again. “If you’re not afraid of being far from home, or of being alone, then what is scaring you?”

“You are!” Belle cried, her voice high and wavering, far less strong than she’d wanted to appear. Rumpelstiltskin flinched like she’d struck him, but she couldn’t stop now. He wanted the truth, so he would have it. “You are scaring me! Today you’re… you seem so distant, like a stranger. You’re making me worry that I made the wrong choice to trust you. I didn’t want to come alone, but I would have. I chose to be with you and now it’s as if you’re not even here!”

“You decided in the heat of the moment, without discussing it with anyone.” Rumpelstiltskin’s hands spread helplessly, as if he had not a clue what to say to that besides restating the facts. “I cannot understand why, even now.”

“The only chance I might have for true adventure was about to ride over the horizon,” she bristled. “I was hardly going to let it pass me by!”

“And you didn’t give me even a moment to adjust,” Rumpelstiltskin said, and Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Or your father, for that matter. I felt for him this morning, I have to say. I couldn’t blame him for hating me, even though this was not my design.”

“This isn’t the same thing as what happened to you,” she replied. Her lips felt loose and numb with shock and realisation, as the pieces slotted into place to make a daunting and unflattering picture. “I’ll go back someday, and he’ll… he’ll be at our wedding.”

“There is to be a wedding, then?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, and while she thought he wanted to sound bitter, it came out tentative, even hopeful. The look in his eyes broke her heart, even while she couldn’t hope to name it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Belle felt staggered, winded. It was impossible to reconcile the attitude he wore now, so worried she would not want him for a husband, with the standoffish anger of before. 

“Only that you seem alarmingly prone to strong feelings and rash decisions,” he explained, with a long, heavy sigh.

“This isn’t a rash decision,” she assured him. Hope blossomed in her chest that she might still be able to reassure him, that with his anxieties admitted they may still recover this. “It’s an opportunity, one I’ve been wanting to take since the first time I saw a map of the realm and marked every place I wanted to go. I left home today, and I am not going home yet, because if I did I’d never leave again. So come the dawn, I can either ride south with you, or north alone. But I knew this morning that I am finished with sitting around and waiting for anyone else to decide my fate for me.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s brow furrowed. Belle wondered what part of this she was misunderstanding, what it was he needed to hear that she hadn’t said. 

“Then go, if that’s what you want,” he said at last. “I can’t stop you.”

“I’ve told you what I want, Rumpelstiltskin,” she replied. “You haven’t said a word of what you want. I want to be free, to travel, to see things I’ve only dreamed of. You assured me you understood that… that you could accept it and even admire it in me… that you could love a woman who had such dreams. Was all that a lie, Rumpelstiltskin?” she broke off, brushed her hands over her temples and into her hair in frustration before looking back at him. “This will be a poor marriage indeed, if we cannot even communicate our desires to one another.”

“I am a selfish man, Belle,” he told her. It was a lie, she knew that from everything he’d said and done until this very day. She also knew he believed every word.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want you to stay with me because you said you would, or because you’re afraid to be alone,” he told her, at last. The anger and fight seemed to drain from him with every word, while the creases of his face deepened, until it seemed he was a hundred years old and weary of the world. “I want to be a man who can selflessly set aside my own wants for the sake of another, for you. I want to say I will follow and protect you without thought to my own feelings on the matter, regardless of where you lead me.”

“But…?” Belle prompted, and Rumpelstiltskin relented, with a helpless sigh. 

“But I am not. I want you beside me willingly. I want you to stay with me because you care for me, as I care for you. Because you want to be, and wouldn’t be anywhere else. And so I am selfish, because I can’t give you what you need, and thus I can’t make you happy.”

Belle’s heart swelled even as her eyes stung with tears. “What is it that you think I need?” she asked, “Why do you think you can’t make me happy? You were doing a fine job of doing just that, until today.”

“We agreed before that I was to court you, did we not?” Rumpelstiltskin enquired, and Belle nodded, wondering where he was going with this. “When you decided to come with me this morning, you told your father that I had proposed to you, and I did not argue with you. But since then… since then everything you have said about your intentions has cast me entirely in the role of friend and protector.” He sighed, and shook his head, gathering his thoughts it seemed. “I need to know now if that’s all you want really want. I need to know if you’re only in this for the adventure, if I am nothing but an opportunity to you.”

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle breathed, and stepped forward, her heart melting as she wrapped her arms around him and gathered him close. He was harder to hug in his plate than in his soft leathers, but she felt the message was received. His arms closed around her, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. They stood like that for long minutes, and nothing had ever felt more like coming home to Belle than being enclosed in his strong arms. As long as this feeling remained, she thought, everything would come right in the end. 

It made sense now, all of it, and it brought Belle to the edge of tears. She had done all she could think of to make him comfortable, to make sure he didn’t feel pressured or forced to things or feelings he didn’t want. But in doing so, she had denied him confirmation that he held any value to her at all. 

Finally, she pulled back, just enough to look him in the eyes. “Rumple, I don’t want to make yet another rash decision,” that drew a small laugh from him, the smile chasing years off his face, making him appear once more as her kindly companion of yesterday. “Or rush into something I can’t be sure of yet. But… is it enough to say that I might love you, that I could, given some time to do so, and let us work out the rest along the way?”

He swallowed, and nodded, that small smile remaining on his handsome face. “Might and could are better than can’t and won’t,” he admitted, and she nodded.

“Convince me,” she ventured, “seduce me. That’s what courtship is about, isn’t it? And I was so enjoying being courted.”

“I was enjoying courting you,” he admitted, as if it was a secret, and she grinned.

“I should have told you that,” she said. She squeezed his hands in hers, and watched as those lines in his face evened out, as the sweet man she had come to care for in the past days returned to her truly. “I just… you seemed so stunned this morning, and I didn’t want you to feel beholden to me,” she continued. “I thought that if you were assured that I was in this for myself alone, then you wouldn’t feel pressured into promises you didn’t want to make.”

“I want to make promises to you,” he assured her, “I want nothing more.”

She nodded, with a wet smile, her eyes trying their best to stream as she fiercely brushed the tears away. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand rose to catch hers by the wrist, and he pulled it aside, brushing her tears aside with his own fingers. It was quite natural then for Belle to lean her face into his palm, and for his thumb to stroke her cheekbone, and then for their mouths to meet, in a sweet, deep kiss of forgiveness and gratitude and reunion.

Rumpelstiltskin coaxed her to sit on the side of the bed, and he sat beside her, kissing her again and again as his arm came to cradle her shoulders. They sat that way for some time, their silence now companionable in the warm, candlelit darkness.

“Do you know the real reason why I came with you?” Belle asked, quietly, after what felt like hours of gentle kissing, lost in his embrace. “The thought that tipped me over the edge, and made me decide not just to leave, but to leave with you?” 

He shook his head, and she smiled at him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand reaching for his, fingers playing and tangling together. “I realised that you’d be going home all alone,” Belle told him, soft and genuine, a secret that needed telling. “I can count, Rumpelstiltskin. I know that if you spent fourteen years raising a child, then all your famous adventures only happened over the last decade. No man could fit all of that in while still returning home often.” Belle’s tone and gaze softened with sympathy as she drew her conclusion. “You left after he died, didn’t you? That’s why you return home so rarely.”

Rumpelstiltskin went still at her perceptiveness, but it seemed he would not lie to her, and he nodded slowly. He drew her closer to rest on his shoulder, his head coming to rest atop hers. “Clever girl,” he murmured, and Belle tried to smile.

“I tried to leave, when my mother died,” Belle confided. It was easier, she found, to tell these truths without having to look him in the eye. She was lulled into confidence and strength by his arm around her back, his hand entangled with his, and the smooth rhythm of his breathing. “I didn’t know how to live in that house without her, and my father just walled himself away for months. If I could have run then, I doubt I would have come back.”

“You shouldn’t have made this decision based on sympathy, Belle,” he told her, with a sigh.

“I didn’t,” she assured him, looking up with a smile that was all fondness. Belle was coming to understand that his endless ability to doubt her was more to do with his perception of himself, and that took all the sting from his words. She played with his soft hair with one hand, entranced by how it shone, silver, gold and bronze all at once in the dim candlelight. “That I want to have my adventures by your side was always part of the equation. I wanted, I want, to be with you. But I could have waited for your return, if it was only that.”

“But you didn’t,” he noted, and Belle nodded, pressing another soft kiss to his waiting lips.

“No,” she agreed, “I didn’t. I don’t ever want you to have to feel lonely, Rumple, or to grieve on your own. Not when it’s needless; not when I could be there with you. I wouldn’t have you suffer when I could prevent it.” 

“Belle…” he started, his hand coming to cup her face. Then his emotion apparently got the best of him, and his words died in his throat.

Belle’s hand came to cover his, and she smiled back up at him, letting all her relief at his return to her after their day in silence show in her face. “I’ll hold your hand when you return to your home and try to build a life, and you’ll hold mine when I set out to see the world.”

“That sounds like a very fine deal,” Rumpelstiltskin agreed, with a smile so sweet and grateful that Belle had to kiss him again, and then again. “But you should understand that a life with me won’t be endless excitement,” Rumpelstiltskin warned her, pulling away for just a moment. “I want a family, a life, a real life. If we’re going to be together, I’d like to hope that someday we could settle down. Not immediately, but someday; when I said as long as you’ll have me, I meant it.”

“I’m not asking to live forever on the road, Rumple,” Belle replied. “I’m not a fool, and I know that for all that I’ve spent my life dreaming…” she laughed, and shook her head. “Today proved that I hardly want every day spent on horseback. I’m sore all over, and the open road isn’t as romantic as the poets would have you believe. I want those things too; I just don’t want only that. And if I had stayed with my father, that’s all I could have ever had.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, “We can do that,” he promised. “We can have both.” 

Belle beamed at him, so happy in that moment that she thought she would never stop.

Then he seemed to remember something, and looked at her with a quizzical expression. “What did you call me?” Rumpelstiltskin was smiling, but his eyes narrowed. “You said it before as well. Did you… did you just call me Rumple?”

“We’re betrothed now,” Belle said, primly, looking down and smoothing her skirts. “I don’t see that it matters.”

“It’s adorable,” he snickered, curling a finger beneath her chin to pull her gaze back to him. “Even if I were still angry, that would have killed it.”

“You had no reason to be angry!” Belle cried, “You’re getting a wife out of this, and you had every opportunity before to object! I was the one who was ignored and slighted all day!”

“And I have yet to apologise for that, for which I am remiss. I should never have ignored you today, Belle, and I am deeply sorry for the distress it caused. I was…” he sighed in frustration, at himself instead of her, “I couldn’t believe you cared if I was there or not. I thought to isolate myself from what felt like a rejection, and I couched it as following your wishes. I’m so very sorry, Belle. I should never have hurt you like that.”

Belle nodded, and smiled to show that all was forgiven, “Apology accepted,” she assured him. “I’m sorry for not making my feelings clearer. In trying to be considerate I managed exactly the opposite.”

“And my fears got in the way of my better judgement,” Rumpelstiltskin added. “Belle, you forget that I have been married before. Even if Milah had lived, we never would have made one another happy, and since then… it’s just hard to believe that after all this time, things could be any different.”

“Rumple,” Belle said, stressing her new pet name and making him smile, “Until today, nothing I knew of you made me think this was a mistake. If we make each other miserable, then we’ll cope with that as it comes.”

“I don’t want to make you miserable.”

“You won’t again,” she assured him him. “Just… talk to me? Tell me when you’re troubled, rather than keeping it to yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised again, his hands taking hers and brushing the backs of her palms with his thumbs. “I’m sorry, Belle. I was a fool today. I just… I still can’t believe you’re here,” he admitted. “You’re so… you’re you. I can’t understand why you would choose to come with me. It was easier to be angry with you for sounding selfish, than to hope otherwise. I’ll try not to do that again.”

“Thank you,” she replied, sincerely. “We’ll both try very hard not to do that, alright? We’ll try to be the best couple we can. And maybe we’ll fail, and maybe we’ll end up as close friends who happen to share a house. No matter what happens, it’s better that we are together than apart. I’m certain of that.”

Rumpelstiltskin managed to catch her by surprise, then, by darting forward to kiss her soundly. His arm snaked about her waist to pull her close; Belle laughed a little through her nose, and kissed him back, her hand weaving its way into his soft hair.

When they parted, they were both smiling, the tension from before eased at last. Belle bit her lip, and snickered softly to herself. “Mm, tell me again how we’ll make each other miserable?”

He shook his head, “You’re too clever by half, my dear,” he told her, and she grinned and stuck out her tongue. The moment was then utterly wrecked by the loud growling of her stomach. He gaped at her, and she froze for a moment, before collapsing into helpless giggles.

“When did you last eat?” he asked with concern, and she thought for a moment.

“Um,” she frowned, considering the question. “I had porridge this morning before I heard you were leaving, and then an apple and a bread roll around mid-afternoon. Why?”

“Your father was right,” Rumpelstiltskin groaned. “I can’t look after you.” He grabbed her hand, and stood, hauling her to her feet along with him. “Come on, we’re getting you fed. I’m not having you starve just because you were too busy being angry with me to ask to stop for lunch.”

“Hey!” she cried, “Most of the sulking was on your end!”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, “We were too busy sulking at each other to stop for lunch. Happy?”

“Hungry,” she corrected. “You must be too. Let’s get you out of this ridiculous armour and find some dinner.”

He froze at those words, his armour gleaming in the candlelight, and his face went bright scarlet. It was only then that Belle realised what she’d said, and blushed with him, giggling again. “Not like that!” she scolded, swatting him with the back of her hand.

Belle tried hard not to think about what he had insinuated; even harder not to imagine it, fantasise about it, or want it more than a lady should. It was an impossible task, she knew, but it had to be done.

He just waggled his eyebrows at her, as if enjoying her reaction. For a moment Belle’s cheeks flamed in a hot blush: she all of a sudden remembered where they were stood, how alone they were, and how easy it would be now to do exactly as she had accidentally implied. Belle wondered if he would take her to bed tonight, if she asked it of him; she wondered if she wanted to ask just yet.

But he broke his hold on her hands then, and slowly stepped back. “I’ll retire to my room, my Lady,” he told her. “There’s a small tavern downstairs, the innkeeper’s wife should provide whatever sustenance is needed. As you so keenly noted, I first need to get out of all this metal.”

“I could… help,” Belle offered, her teeth back to worrying at her lower lip. She saw how his eyes rested there, as if entranced, and her blushes resumed. “I should learn sometime, after all.”

“I… no, that’s a bad idea,” he denied, although she had the distinct impression that he had been about to agree wholeheartedly. “I’m quite capable alone, and you’re half-starved. Go and eat, my dear, I shall follow as soon as I can.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Belle said, and he nodded, and left without another word. 

Left alone with her thoughts, Belle had to wonder if his sudden haste to leave had more to do with his concern for her wellbeing, or with the same internal struggle she herself was facing. If they were not betrothed, if this were still as casual and as tentative as it had been yesterday, then perhaps this curiosity could have been kept at bay. But Belle had always been a curious girl, hungry for life and for adventure, impatient for the things she knew were to come to hurry up and find her fast. He would bed her someday, of this Belle was certain. And for all that she knew it was too early, too soon, and she was not yet ready to give herself to him so entirely… even knowing all that, that hungry piece of her was still impatient for this next step in her new life.

She shook her head at her own musing: it was pointless and frustrating to imagine the shape of his thoughts without evidence or proof either way. Men desired women, and Rumpelstiltskin had proven many times that he cared for her. No man would kiss the way he kissed her without even so much as considering what would naturally follow.

Rumpelstiltskin’s intentions had been made clear. Whether that knowledge was a comfort or a worry was a much harder question.


End file.
